


Thank You

by unadulteratedstorycollector



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Healer Draco Malfoy, M/M, balls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-01 22:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8640832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedstorycollector/pseuds/unadulteratedstorycollector
Summary: Harry is fed up of listening to Draco Malfoy complain about living at home. It's not like he'll listen to any of Harry's suggestions. Although, maybe if he did, things wouldn't work out exactly as Harry thinks they would.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darkravenwrote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/gifts).



> I loved writing this so much... it completely took over my life! I really love the fake relationship trope, so it was awesome to see that on your list of likes! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! I tried to get some nice wintery blues in there for you!
> 
> Thanks to L for beta reading! Any mistakes are mine

Harry can’t remember the exact moment when they started hanging out with Draco Malfoy and his friends. He can remember the moment that he realised that he could probably stop calling them Draco Malfoy’s friends and start calling them his own. Maybe not Pansy, she can be a bit terrifying, and he doesn’t really ever have much to say to Goyle, but the others. They’re his friends. Not close friends like Neville and Luna, or best friends like Ron and Hermione. But friends. He looks down into his pint and thinks about it. This is sort of what he wanted out of the war. For there to be no divides. It’s nice.

“And now all father will talk about is when I’m going to get married. I don’t think I’ve had a morning this week without him saying something,” Malfoy drawls and Harry frowns to himself. Malfoy whining makes everything a little less nice. Harry isn’t sure if he would call Malfoy a friend. Maybe sometimes, when it’s late, and they’ve not been drinking, and there isn’t anyone else around. But not when they’re standing in a big group of people at the Leaky. Harry supposes that Malfoy must be nice to some people. He’s a Healer. They have to have some sort of bedside manner, right? So he must be able to be not a twat. Except apparently not when he’s around Harry.

“So why don’t you just avoid going to breakfast? Have it delivered to your room. Or ask Nightingale if you can work more nights,” Blaise says, raising one eyebrow. Ginny look up at him adoringly and Harry feels a bubble of warmth as he watches her looking so happy. Maybe that’s when they started hanging around with Malfoy. When Ginny started dating Blaise. 

“I tried asking for my breakfast to be delivered to my room. Mother was not pleased. She pulls rank over me apparently. And I can’t work more nights, that would be awful!” Malfoy moans and Harry rolls his eyes to himself. This is the least problematic problem he’s ever heard.

“Just ignore him, Draco,” Pansy snaps, sounding annoyed and bored with the conversation. Harry drains his pint as Malfoy snorts.

“Have you ever tried ignoring Lucius Malfoy? It is literally impossible. He’s actually started inviting eligible women to dinner. It’s so awkward,” Draco groans. Harry moves around Hermione and Ron to place his glass on the bar and signal to Hannah that he’d like another one. If Malfoy is going to be this depressing he’s going to need to get drunk. Hannah smiles at him from behind Malfoy and pours him another pint.

“Have you told him you’re gay?” Hermione asks and Draco lets out a short laugh that makes Harry feel on edge. It’s the sort of laugh that he thinks should sound cruel, but now he’s been spending more time with the git has realised is actually just self-deprecating. Hannah hands him his drink and he takes a large gulp.

“Of course I’ve told him I’m gay. But gay men do not an heir make, not ‘properly’ anyway, so it’s a nice pure-blood woman he’s after. He says once I’ve produced an heir I could go off with a centaur for all he cares. But heir first.” Draco finishes his whiskey and Harry tires not to look at the way his neck ripples, the column of white almost begging to be marked. Not that Harry looks at Malfoy that way. Not when he’s talking. “Which means listening to him talk about it at every meal, and even some times in the evening.”

“So move out.” Harry shrugs. Suddenly he finds seven pairs of eyes on him with varying degrees of annoyance.

“I can’t just ‘move out’, Potter,” Draco barks and Harry frowns back at him. Why does he always have to be so snappy when he’s talking to Harry? He’s never this barky when he’s talking to Hermione or Ron. He ignores what his stomach does when he hears Malfoy say his name in that way. Because Malfoy is an arrogant arsehole, and doesn’t deserve to be as attractive as he is.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” he sighs, “why not?” Next to him Blaise huffs, a smirk on his face. Malfoy looks at him like Harry is something nasty on the bottom of his shoe and Hermione pats his arm, jogging his beer and making it slosh over his hand a little. Right. So he’s clearly missing something that is important to pure-bloods because else they wouldn’t all be looking at him like he’s a madman.

“Because, Harry, in pure-blood tradition, a child is only able to leave their home when they are married. Sometimes not even then. As the only Malfoy heir, Draco would be expected to stay at home and take care of the Malfoy estate, including any and all businesses that they own.” Hermione uses her slow voice. The one she uses when she’s trying to explain something to Harry that she’s sure he’s not going to understand, or that he’s going to argue against.

“But Ron moved out. And Ginny. And all the Weasleys,” Harry argues, cursing himself for living up to Hermione’s expectations. 

“Because the Weasleys are such a shining example of pure-blood witches and wizards,” Malfoy sneers and Harry bristles before Malfoy turns to Ron, “no offense.”

“None taken. I’d rather be in my family where I can live with my girlfriend in sin than have to stay at home with my mum and dad.” Ron laughs and takes a swig of his beer. Hermione blushes prettily and leans against him slightly. Harry sighs to himself and takes a sip of his beer. Everyone seems to be pairing up. Neville and Hannah. Dean and Seamus. Ron and Hermione. Even Luna has started seeing Rolf Scamander. Everyone, it seems, apart from Draco Malfoy. Harry can’t help but feel a little bit pleased about that. Because misery loves company. Not because he’s glad Malfoy isn’t taken.

“Alright… so marry someone,” Harry suggests. Malfoy looks at him, his slate grey eyes boring into Harry’s and for a moment Harry forgets how to breathe. There’s something about air going in and then out again?

“If I had someone I wanted to get married to, we wouldn’t have this problem. I don’t know about you, Potter, but I would quite like to actually love the person who I am going to spend the rest of my life with.” Draco raises one eyebrow and Harry doesn’t miss the looks that the two of them are getting as they stare at each other talking about marriage and love. This is what you get for trying to help someone. He should be used to it by now. Or he should just learn to keep his mouth shut and let Malfoy prattle on about whatever it is that’s pissing him off.

“Ok… so find someone you trust who is single and pretend to marry them. Then you don’t have to live at home, and you have the time to continue your very thorough search for your soulmate.” Harry knows he’s sounding as snappy as Malfoy. But he can’t help it. The man just makes him snappy and annoyed. And, yes, he knows that having a dig at Malfoy’s romantic reputation was probably a bad idea, but the prick deserves it for being so fucking difficult.

Harry gulps at his beer as Malfoy glares at him and the others glance between the two of them. Right, now Malfoy is going to be pissed off at him and they’re going to argue and he’ll have to think of some way to make it up to him or Ginny and Blaise will be impossible.

“I don’t think that I need to tell you what a ridiculous idea that is, Potter.” Draco’s voice is clipped and Harry thinks that maybe, this time, he should try to avoid the inevitable. He sighs, nodding and trying to look as earnest as possible.

“Yeah… sorry… that was a bit stupid,” Harry mutters, watching as Malfoy visibly relaxes. For once being an Auror has actually come in useful with Malfoy. Usually it just leads to arguments about how careless Harry is, and how many times Malfoy has had to fix him after a mission. He feels Hermione’s shoulders slump slightly next to him and Pansy’s eyes flash dangerously. Fuck. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say.

“Indeed,” Malfoy sniffs, standing tall, “but it came from you, so I didn’t expect brilliance.” Harry knows this is what his friends had been worried about. And to be fair to them he had walked right into it. This is normally where Harry would shout at Malfoy and they’d have to be dragged out of the pub by Ron and Goyle. But not today. Today is going to be different, because if Harry acts at least a little mature then maybe Hermione won’t moan at him all the way home tonight.

“Absolutely,” Harry laughs and he sees the tension as it leaves everyone in the circle. Malfoy raises one eyebrow before taking the glass that Theo hands to him. Harry doesn’t miss the look in Malfoy’s eye as he turns to Pansy and starts talking to her about some party his parents are holding. Harry doesn’t miss it, but he’ll be fucked if he knows what it means.

*****

When the door to his office flies open on Monday, Harry's wand is in his hand before he can think. He swallows the lump in his throat and takes a couple of deep breaths to settle the adrenaline rushing through him before turning to glare at the man in front of him. He was having such a good day, considering it’s a Monday. 

“Didn't fancy knocking first?” He frowns and puts his wand back on his desk. Malfoy raises one eyebrow and folds himself delicately into the chair on the other side of Harry's desk. Harry knows from past experience that if he wasn’t in the room Malfoy would have sat in his chair with his feet up on the desk. Probably with a mug of tea in his hand as he read a confidential file. Prick.

“I've come to take you up on your offer,” Malfoy sniffs, and Harry tries to ignore the way his heart jumps with curiosity. There is no way he's going to ask Malfoy what he's talking about. The lanky shit loves the sound of his own voice, he'll say soon enough. Although, if Harry really thinks about it, Malfoy is more lean than lanky, with his broad shoulders and a beautifully rounded...

He stops this thought there.

Malfoy stares at him, his grey eyes gleaming in the low light of Harry's office. His blond hair shines like a halo and the shadow across his face makes his angles more defined. If he wasn't a complete dick, he'd be stupidly attractive. But he is a complete dick. And there's only so much of that Harry can ignore before someone stops being hot.

They stare at each other, Draco’s eyes strong and flashing, Harry doing his best to look mildly confused. Maybe he should do some work whilst he waits for Malfoy to make his point. Or something. He shouldn’t just sit there doing nothing. What could Malfoy be talking about anyway? Harry is pretty sure he hasn’t ever offered Malfoy anything without it being a life-or-death situation. And the last time they spoke was at the pub. He definitely hadn’t offered Malfoy anything then. They had barely talked. Malfoy had been so busy moaning about his father and… oh.

“Fuck off Malfoy,” Harry snarls.

“You were the one who suggested it,” Malfoy bites back, leaning forward, his hair flying around his face in a way that Harry guesses could be sexy, if it wasn’t on Malfoy. Had he suggested it? No. He’d suggested that Malfoy find someone. And he was pretty sure he said someone he could trust. He ignores the flutter in his chest at the thought that he is included in that list.

“Yeah. For you to find someone else. And you weren’t exactly very open to the idea.” He doesn’t know why he’s arguing with Malfoy about this. It’s a ridiculous idea. Malfoy said so himself!

“Yes, well… desperate times call for desperate measures.” Malfoy’s lip twitches and Harry finds himself leaning forward, ready to start shouting.

“So find someone else!” 

“Like who? Theo? Goyle?” Malfoy snaps, standing up and walking around the desk to stand in front of Harry. Harry holds his breath and concentrates on not smelling Malfoy, because he knows from past experience that Malfoy smells quite nice and sometimes it’s hard to think when he can smell him. Not in a weird way. In a ‘your cologne is intoxicating and I have trouble enough forming thought around you’ kind of way. What he needs is for Malfoy to start talking. It’s much easier to remember what a twat Malfoy is when he’s talking. “There is no one else, Potter. You must have realised that when you suggested it.”

“Uh…” Harry stutters, feeling his cheeks flare with heat. Had he realised that? No. No, Malfoy said that it had to be a woman. And last time Harry had checked he was definitely a man. “I thought you said that your parents would only be happy with a female to produce an heir?” His voice sounds raspy and he kicks himself. Huffing, Malfoy rolls his eyes and perches on the edge of Harry’s desk, his long legs stretched in front of him, blocking Harry from being able to get up. 

“Indeed… But you’re Harry Potter. They wouldn’t give up a chance to be aligned with the great Harry Potter just so that they could have a pure-blood heir. And anyway, you could always tell them that you are willing to go through the necessary medical procedures and carry the child.” Malfoy sounds like he’s discussing what to have for dinner, and it makes Harry feel sick. Medical procedures? Carry a child? He’s pretty sure that he can’t do that… that he’s missing a very vital part of his anatomy.

“But… I’m a man…” he replies weakly. Draco stares at him, his grey eyes blank and Harry is completely confused. He didn’t think he would have to discuss this particular flaw in Malfoy’s plan with the trained medical professional. “I don’t have a… um… womb?”

“We’re wizards, Potter. You don’t need a womb to carry a child. There are potions and spells that simulate the same space, and you’d have to go on a special diet and there’s a lunar pattern to follow,” Draco sighs, looking bored. He’s using the same voice that Hermione uses and Harry doesn’t know if he should be insulted or not. “But that doesn’t matter, because we’re not actually going to have a child. We’re pretending, Potter.” Oh. Yes. Right. No actual child because no actual marriage. Well that’s a relief.

“This is mental, Malfoy. There is no way your parents would believe this. We can’t even be in the same room as each other without arguing! How are we supposed to convince your parents that we’re in love?” He can feel his voice getting high. This is not the sort of conversation he was expecting to have on a Monday morning. 

“You’ve clearly never seen my parents together,” Malfoy mutters and for a moment Harry feels bad for him. More bad then he usually does. They’ve hashed out their past enough to know that living with Voldemort in his house was like living in hell, and that the crippling fear of disappointing his parents lead to pretty much everything Malfoy ever did. But it’s sort of sad to hear that his life might still be a bit shit, living at home. 

Just as Harry takes a deep breath Malfoy shuffles slightly closer, the deep, warm smell of him flowing over Harry. Fuck, he smells so good. He shouldn’t smell that good. It probably isn’t very helpful when he’s treating patients. Harry knows from experience that Malfoy’s smell can be distracting when he’s trying to list his symptoms.

“This is crazy,” he breathes, trying to remember why it’s crazy. He looks up into Malfoy’s eyes, those fucking grey eyes that seem to be constantly changing shade. Should eyes do that? Shouldn’t they just be one colour all the time? He’s pretty sure that’s what eyes are supposed to do. Malfoy would probably know.

“Indeed… well it was your idea and you aren’t known for your sanity,” Malfoy whispers back, his voice sending shivers down Harry’s spine. It takes him a moment to understand what he’s just said. Right. It’s crazy because it’s Malfoy, and Malfoy is a git, regardless of how hot he is or how good he smells.

Harry opens his mouth to say no. He really does. That is exactly what he’s going to say. But then there’s something in Malfoy’s eyes that stops him. Something shining. Something that looks a little like hope and Harry realises where he’s seen that look before. He can almost feel the fire around him. Because that’s what he does, isn’t it. Saves people when they need saving. He groans a little and runs his fingers through his hair, giving it a small tug.

“Fine! I’ll do it,” he declares. If he’d expected Malfoy to look grateful he would have been disappointed. As it is, he expected Malfoy to say something scathing and horrible that immediately made him question is decisions. But he’s disappointed with that too. Malfoy stands up delicately and starts to walk out of the room, his robes flowing behind him in a very Snape-like way.

“Lovely. I’ll come and pick you up at seven on Friday. We can go for dinner in Diagon and the Prophet will see us. That should be enough to convince my parents for now,” Malfoy stops at the door and turns just enough so that Harry can see one eye, “thank you, Potter.” He sweeps from the room, leaving Harry confused and lightheaded, and with a date on Friday.

*****

He could at least look like shit. If Malfoy looked like shit there would be a lot less chance that people would stare at them. But he doesn't. He looks like a fucking film star, with his blonde hair stylishly messy and his suit perfectly fitted under robes that Harry can only assume he had specially tailored for him. Even in Harry's nicest clothes he looks scruffy compared to Malfoy.

“As flattered as I am, perhaps you would like to choose what you want to eat rather than stare at me,” Malfoy smirks and Harry feels the blush in his cheeks. Right. Hot, but still a prick. He looks at the menu and realises he doesn't speak French and so can't understand it. Trust Malfoy to pick some fancy French place for their 'coming-out-date' as Ron keeps calling it. Harry already came out once. He didn't think he'd have to do it again.

He glances up at Malfoy and sees him grinning, his eyes dancing and Harry knows that he's taking the piss. Huffing, he rolls his eyes and closes the menu. Malfoy seems pleased with himself, and Harry can't help but feel a little jump in his chest at the thought that he pleased Malfoy. In some small way at least. Because it sort of seems like Malfoy is teasing him.

“How about you order for me, and if it's crap I can blame you.” Harry grins at him and Malfoy quietly chuckles to himself, shaking his head slightly. It makes Harry feel even more pleased with himself. Until he realises that he's teasing Malfoy back, which could definitely be considered flirting. It probably isn't a good idea to flirt with the person you're pretending to be in a relationship with.

Malfoy orders something in French, the waiter completely ignoring Harry, and it gives him time to have a look around the room. It's big, with a high ceiling, which he likes in a room. Each table is covered in heavy white tablecloths and has a privacy charm around it so that the voices of the other diners are only inaudible mumbles. If Harry wanted to he could cast a charm that counteracts that without the speakers knowing. It was one of the more difficult spells to learn in Auror training.

“So,” Malfoy says, shocking Harry out of his reverie. There's a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth and Harry has the sudden urge to punch him. Or something else. No, definitely punch. Because it's Malfoy and he makes Harry want to punch him. Harry frowns at himself and turns back to the matter at hand. Their fake relationship.

“So what the plan?” He asks, trying to sound like he knows exactly what he's doing. Malfoy raises an eyebrow at him, the smirk getting wider and he regrets ever suggesting this stupid idea. But he did, and then Malfoy stormed into his office and smelt good and Harry just had to help him, because clearly that's what he does. But if he's going to do it he needs a plan. He spent too long living in a tent wandering around the UK with no plan to ever want to live without a plan again.

“Plan?” Malfoy asks, his voice light and Harry growls. Trust Malfoy to be a complete knob about this.

“Yeah. A plan. I assume you have one? Beyond us coming to this restaurant and letting the Prophet take photos of us on the way out,” he snaps back. Malfoy stiffens and Harry realises that even if people can't hear him, they can see him, so he needs to look like he's on a date with someone who he's going to propose to at some point. He takes a deep breath and leans across to take Malfoy's hand from where it's rested. Malfoy's eyes widen, but his body relaxes and he gives Harry's hand a squeeze.

After a moment of sitting holding hands and smiling at each other, Harry starts to feel uncomfortable. This isn’t a real date, and this is really Malfoy, so it’s probably best if he doesn’t slip too much into the ruse. He pulls back and watches with interest as something that could be disappointment flashes across Malfoy’s face. Except there is no way that Malfoy could want any more than what they have. Harry is pretty sure he annoys Malfoy as much as Malfoy annoys him.

“My plan,” Malfoy says, making Harry pay attention. Right. Harry asked him for a plan. And he has one. It’s nice of him to have thought of that before coming for this date. “I was thinking that after this you would probably need to give a press release. Something about how we’ve been together for a while, and want the press to respect our privacy. And then maybe a couple of more public dates. You would come to the Manor. And then after that you propose.” Malfoy finishes just as a waiter arrives with their drinks. Just normal beer for him, thank fuck. Harry doesn’t know what he would have done if Malfoy had ordered some sort of fancy wine or whisky.

“Ok… a few things,” Harry takes a sip of his drink before looking seriously at Malfoy, slipping into Auror mode, “Firstly, a press conference? Really? I have literally never given a press conference about my love life before, ever. I’ll give a small interview to Luna for the Quibbler, but I’m not standing in front of a load of people explaining why I like you.” He knows he sounds strong, because he’s been told that that’s how he sounds when he’s taking charge. Malfoy looks at him for a moment before nodding.

“Great… I’ll owl her when I get home. Secondly, if I’m going to Malfoy Manor, you’re going to have to come to the Weasley’s for Sunday lunch.” Harry watches as Malfoy seems to pale further, if that’s at all possible. After a second of thought Malfoy nods and Harry ignores the sick feeling in his stomach at the thought of going for dinner at Malfoy Manor.

“Ok… and lastly. Why am I the one proposing to you?” Harry leans back in his chair, “Why don’t you propose to me?” Malfoy stares at him, one eyebrow raised and Harry feels his heart jump. Shit. He takes a sip of his beer and tries to calm his pulse.

“And why would I propose to you?” Malfoy leans forward, looking at Harry through his long pale eyelashes. Harry finds himself following Malfoy’s lead, leaning towards him, chasing that smell. He feels something bump against his foot and he realises with a jolt that it’s Malfoy’s foot, now slowly running along the side of it. Ok, definitely flirting. Harry needs to put a stop to that ASAP. 

“Because, Malfoy–“

“Draco.” Malfoy jumps in and Harry frowns.

“What?” He snaps back. Malfoy grins at him, his very white, very straight teeth on show and for a moment Harry can’t focus on anything except that mouth. He has a nice mouth really. His lips are thin, but they tilt up in the corners even when he’s relaxed, and they’re beautifully pink. A splash of colour on his pale face.

“Don’t you think that maybe we should start using our first names when talking to each other? If we’re going to convince anyone that we’re actually in love.” Malfoy – Draco – leans forward and trails one had along Harry’s sleeve, making shivers run through him, his skin feeling like it’s on fire. Fucker.

“Sure. You would propose to me, Draco, because this is your insane idea, and so you should be the one on your knee.” The words are out of his mouth before he can think and he cringes as he remembers who he’s talking to. Draco’s eyes darken and Harry rolls his eyes, leaning back, forcing himself to leave the nice smell and the heat. This means nothing, this flirting. Draco flirts with every man available, like it’s a sport and he’s in the fucking Olympics. He’s about to say something when the waiter arrives with their food. Harry smiles politely as a bowl of soup is put in front of him, brown and watery looking.

“It’s French Onion soup, Harry,” Draco supplies helpfully, and he nods, pretending to know what that is, “just eat it.” Harry takes a mouthful of the soup, the onions feeling oddly not-slimy in his mouth. It’s sweeter than he expected, and there’s something rich underneath the taste. Butter maybe? It’s not horrible and he’s eaten worse when they were running around the UK. What with growing up at the Dursley’s and that year, there isn’t much Harry won’t eat. 

The soft clinking of their spoons against the bowl fills the space around them. It’s been years since he’s eaten in silence. First with Hogwarts, and then the Weasley’s, and then living on his own where he pretty much always eats with the TV on. It feels… strange. Maybe this is how all of Draco’s meals go. Silent and posh. No wonder he wants to leave his parents’ house.

“You need to propose to me, else my parents will think that I’m only doing it to get out of the Manor,” Draco whispers suddenly and Harry stops eating to think about this. Because that is exactly why they are doing this. Because Draco can’t just stand up to his parents and tell them that he’s not going to get married yet, but that he’s moving out anyway. Harry isn’t quite sure when his life became this. His work is easier than this. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair, ignoring the way Draco stares at it afterwards.

“Fine. I propose to you.” He watches as Draco seems to relax, his shoulders slumping and the slight crease in his forehead disappearing.

“Thank you.” Draco breathes and Harry can’t help it. He reaches one foot out and brushes it against Draco’s, enjoying the way the Draco’s mouth twitches into a smile. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Draco isn’t so much of a prat when he’s not around other people. It’s like he only ribs Harry to get a rise. Which is exactly what Hermione tells him every time they have an argument. 

As he sits finishing his soup, watching the man opposite him, it occurs to her that maybe he likes seeing Draco annoyed as much as Draco seems to enjoy winding him up.

*****

“You look fine,” Draco states, not looking up from the paper in his hand. He’s sat in Harry’s favourite spot on the sofa, his long legs in front of him, his hair slicked back and his robes incredibly neat. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen Draco look so formal. Not even at school. Whenever Harry sees him at the pub he’s wearing his robes open and loose, and at the hospital he usually has at least one button undone, his hair flying everywhere as he rushes from one patient to the other. Harry isn’t sure he likes it.

“If what you look like is the standard that you want me to achieve then I don’t fucking look fine, do I?” Harry demands, turning to the mirror next to the fireplace and trying to smooth his hair down. He’s tried spells, he’s tried muggle hair products, he’s even tried straighteners. Nothing seems to work, and now his scalp hurts. Behind him Draco huffs and stands up, coming to stand behind him. He ignores the heat that seems to radiate from Draco as Draco’s hands run through his hair, his fingers long and nimble. He ignores the way his whole body shivers with excitement. He ignores the way his heart starts beating faster.

After their first date it had become much more comfortable being around Draco when they were on their own. He was still a prick when they were with their friends, but when they were on their own it was like he was a completely different person. Harry is still getting used to the subtle touches and muttered conversations that seem to come with dating Draco Malfoy. Not that they’re actually dating. The Daily Prophet hadn’t been awful either. The photo was actually quite nice. Harry hadn’t realised before how tall Draco was, but apart from that they looked like they were happy.

“There you go,” Draco breathes, wrapping his arms around Harry to straighten his robes before stepping back so that Harry can look at himself in the mirror. His hair is somewhat flat, styled with a neat side parting, not a single hair out of place. He doesn’t know what Draco’s done, but the man is a genius. He grins at Draco and takes a pinch of floo powder. At first, Harry had thought he would just meet Draco in his house, but Draco had insisted on coming over beforehand to make sure that Harry was adequately dressed. Glancing at himself in the mirror again, Harry is sort of pleased that he did. There is no way that Harry would have arrived looking like this if Draco hadn’t been here.

He throws a pinch of the power into the fireplace and watches the flames as they flare green. He hates floo travel, but the wards at Malfoy Manor are too strong for him to Apparate there, and if he remembers rightly, the driveway is way too long for him to walk down. Draco gives his shoulder a quick squeeze and steps into the fireplace, his voice clear and strong. Harry grimaces, remembering his first trip and follows, making sure he enunciates. He’s never making that mistake again.

“You ok?” Draco asks, his voice tight and small, as Harry tumbles out of the fireplace, nearly falling flat on his face. Harry nods, finding that Draco has a hand on his elbow, and tries to smile.

“I hate floo travel. And Apparation, actually. I mean, it’s handy, but it always makes me feel a bit sick.” Harry clamps his mouth shut, very aware that he is babbling. Draco gives him a small smile before his face goes completely blank. Harry feels his stomach tighten at the look of complete indifference. Yet another thing he hasn’t seen on Draco since they were at school. It scares him a little that Draco still acts like this when he’s at home.

“This way,” Draco gestures with one long finger and Harry nods, taking Draco’s other hand in his and giving it a squeeze. Draco doesn’t squeeze back, but he doesn’t pull away either and Harry takes that for a win. Not that he cares what the Malfoys think. Because he isn’t actually dating Draco. And it isn’t really his place to try to be comforting him. He squashes those thoughts down and follows as Draco leads them out of the room.

The hallways are long and wide and Harry tries not to remember the last and only time he was there. That incident, as Hermione likes to call it, has been forgiven, of course it has. But there are just some things that Harry is never going to forget. He’s never going to forget Hermione screaming. He’s never going to forget the paralysing fear. He’s never going to forget Ron hurling himself at the door, screaming Hermione’s name, wild with panic. Draco gives his arm a small tug and he realises he’s stopped.

“Sorry… uh… memories…” he mutters and Draco nods, running his thumb across the back of Harry’s hand. Harry holds onto the feeling, ignoring the space around him when every instinct he has is telling him to be careful, to search the area. This is not an Auror mission. This is a meeting with his fake boyfriend’s parents who he has weird history with. Draco finally gets to a large wooden door and Harry takes a deep breath. This is it. Time for him to act like the best fucking boyfriend ever. He can see Draco taking a deep breath too, and for a moment he wonders if this is how Draco calms down before treating his patients. He always seems so cool and in control at St Mungo’s. When he isn’t yelling at Harry about being a ‘stupid fucking arsehole’. Draco pushes at the large door and pulls Harry into the room.

It’s huge. Bigger than Harry’s whole flat, with three uncomfortable looking sofas and a chaise longue. There’s a small fireplace with no fire and a huge rug that looks like the most comfortable thing in the room. On the low coffee table a selection of cakes and sandwiches are laid out, along with a large teapot, a small jug and a bowl of sugar. Harry knows tea sets exist. Molly Weasley has one. It’s chipped and missing the sugar bowl, but she likes it. But he’s never seen one quite as fancy as the one on the Malfoy’s table.

“Father, Mother,” Draco lets go of Harry’s hand and moves him so that Harry can’t escape, “Harry is here.” Harry thinks that statement is kind of redundant considering the glare he’s getting from Lucius Malfoy. He stands, staring at the older Malfoy, not really sure what he should do. Is he supposed to shake his hand? Introduce himself? Hug him? Probably not hug him. Lucius Malfoy doesn’t look like someone who hugs anyone. 

“Mr Potter!” A light voice drags Harry’s gaze from Lucius and he looks to see Narcissa floating towards him, her arms stretched outwards. Maybe she’s a hugger? He takes a step forward and her hands land on his arms, holding him in place with a firm grip. Maybe not. She gazes at him, her eyes serious even though she’s smiling and Harry thinks maybe he should have practiced Occlumency a bit more.

“Please, call me Harry,” he mumbles, cursing himself for sounding so stumped and her eyes soften, her grin getting bigger. Clearly he’s passed the test. Hopefully the Lucius Malfoy test will be as easy as that. He feels a soft hand on his lower back and turns to see Draco smiling down at him. Right. One parent down. One to go.

“Well, Harry, we’re just so pleased to have you here.” Narcissa’s voice is high and smooth and Harry hopes she’s not lying. He can never tell with the Malfoys. That probably why Lucius is here and not in Azkaban. Narcissa lets go of one arm and guides him over to the sofas, folding herself into one and dragging him to sit next to her. The sofa is surprisingly comfortable and he has to stop himself from jumping up and down a little. That is definitely not the way to get Draco’s parents to like him.

“It’s lovely to be here…” he stutters, glancing at Draco. Draco raises one eyebrow and Harry tries to remember everything he’s supposed to say. “I’ve been telling Draco that he’d have to bring me here eventually.” He smiles at Narcissa and her eyes flash before she turns to Lucius.

“Sit down, dear.” Harry doesn’t need to be an Auror to be able to hear the threat in the words. Right. Arguing. Without really thinking, Harry reaches one hand for Draco, shock running through him when Draco takes it. But of course he would take it. It’s a romantic gesture in front of Draco’s parents. A romantic gesture that Harry totally meant to do. Totally. 

“So, Mr Potter, you and my son?” Lucius drawls as he sits on the chaise longue. Harry feels Draco’s thumb running circles on his hand and grits his teeth. Condescending fuck. Harry raises one eyebrow, switching into Auror mode and leans forward slightly, not letting go of Draco’s hand. He can fucking do this. He’s done weirder things for worse reasons. 

“Indeed, Mr Malfoy. Your son and I.” His voice stays strong and he silently congratulates himself. This is what Draco needs. To be helped. And it’s his job to help people. It’s always been his job. Lucius doesn’t relax at all, and Harry can feel everyone else in the room stiffen. He bites the inside of his cheek, forcing himself not to laugh. Laughing right now would be bad. But seriously, this is by far not the worst situation he’s ever been in. This isn’t the worst situation that he’s been in in this house. 

“And, am I to presume that it is somewhat serious?” Lucius voice is cold. Harry allows himself a smirk, his eyes never leaving Lucius. They’re cold too. Everything about him is cold. It’s weird to think that someone like Draco could have come from someone like Lucius. Draco’s eyes are so much nicer. A raised eyebrow from Lucius reminds him that he is supposed to be answering a question.

“Presume away,” he replies. Draco pulls slightly at his hand and he leans back, staring Lucius down. “As far as I am aware this is a serious relationship. I know that I’m very serious about Draco. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” He breaks eye contact to look at Draco, searching for something a bit nicer than Lucius Malfoy’s glare, and gets a Draco Malfoy smile. Not one of his fake smiles, or even one of the smiles he gives to his patients. A proper smile, that makes his eyes shine a warm grey and his cheeks flush pink. Fuck, he’s hot. Harry really needs Draco to say something shitty right now, because there is no way his life can handle him liking the guy he’s in a fake relationship with.

“This is it, father. I’m with Harry. It is serious,” Draco’s eyes finally move away from Harry’s face and Harry gulps. The next words out of Draco’s mouth better be something cutting and sarcastic. “Harry is the most wonderful person I have ever met, and I only want to be with him. You can either choose to accept that, or never see me again.” The look on Draco’s face is strong and determined, and for a second Harry can’t breathe.

Fuck.

*****

“So let me get this straight, you’re bringing poor Draco to The Burrow because you’re getting back at him for taking you to Malfoy Manor?” Hermione raises one eyebrow as she follows Harry around Grimmauld Place. He doesn’t know if she realises he’d be ready quicker if she didn’t follow him, or whether she just doesn’t care. Either way, he can’t find his good shoes. The ones that Draco had seen and smiled at. 

“No. I said that Draco had to come to The Burrow because I was hoping that would stop him from dragging me to Malfoy Manor. It didn’t work,” Harry huffs and walks into his room, turning around in a circle, “have you seen my shoes?” 

“Which ones?” Hermione asks, clearly suspicious. He frowns at her and starts to pick up random pieces of clothing that are littered around his floor. When Draco moves in he might have to clean the house a little bit. And he’d probably have to stop leaving his dirty dishes in the sink and his jumpers on the sofa. Judging by how particular Draco is and how immaculate the Manor was. 

“The new brown ones with the thin laces…” he bends down to look under his bed. He could probably just wear his converse like normal, but Draco always sneers at him when he wears those. And he could really do without Draco sneering at him. Especially when he realises that he doesn’t actually need to come to The Burrow.

“Why are you wearing your nice shoes to go to The Burrow?” Hermione asks as Harry stands up. He pauses, glancing at her before opening his wardrobe and scrambling around the bottom of it. He’s going to answer her and she’s going to read too much into it, and she’s already started giving Harry and Draco weird looks when they’re at the pub. And the other day Harry actually caught her and Pansy talking about them.

“Uh… because Draco said he liked them,” he mutters, hoping that she hasn’t heard.

“Draco said he liked them?” It was a useless thing to hope for really. Hermione can hear a pin drop at a Weasley Christmas dinner. Harry emerges from the wardrobe feeling flushed, and runs his hands through his hair, avoiding Hermione’s gaze. He probably should get a haircut at some point too. Hermione’s eyes are trained on him and he sighs. “Well, he didn’t insult them, so that’s good enough.” Harry shrugs, feeling too hot under Hermione’s gaze.

“Right…” Hermione carries on looking at Harry likes he’s grown another head but she slides her wand out of her hair, “Accio Harry’s nice shoes.” The door bangs open and Hermione’s hand reaches out to grab the shoes as they fly into the room. If she was better at flying she would have been a really good Quidditch player. Harry can’t count the amount of times he’s seen her catch a book that she’s summoned from another room. Sometimes without even looking up.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles, taking the shoes from her and ignoring the pointed look he gets from her, “Draco will be here in a minute.” He knows it won’t distract her from whatever thought she was having, but he hopes it’ll interrupt enough that she’ll keep the thought to herself. She watches him for a moment more before her face relaxes and he can let out the breath he was holding. 

“Are you going to tell him–”

“Harry! Hermione! Draco’s here… we’re going to be late and mum is going to kill us!” Ron bellows from the bottom of the stairs. Harry looks at her and grins. She carries on staring at him for a moment before rolling her eyes and stalking out of his room, her hair bouncing in a high ponytail behind her. It almost looks indignant. How can a ponytail look indignant? He sighs to himself and follows her down the stairs.

“Ok, everyone ready?” he sings as he gets to the bottom of the stairs. Hermione huffs and grabs Ron by the arm, dragging him into the living room. Jumping the last two steps, Harry lands on the ground next to Draco with a thump, running his eyes appraisingly over Draco’s outfit. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a casual green checked shirt with a thin black tie. He looks ridiculously comfortable in just muggle clothes and for a moment Harry forgets to breathe.

“I thought Ron and Hermione had their own place…” Draco’s voice is low and rumbles through Harry. Great. Now he’s being affected by Draco’s fucking voice. It was so much easier when he was a dick. The more time they actually spend together the more Harry finds that he actually quite likes the prat. Which isn’t good. It’s not good at all. He absolutely can’t fall for his fake boyfriend. He will not be that guy.

“They do. They come here for breakfast on Sundays and then we go to The Burrow together. You’ll see when you move in…” He stops. This is the first time either of them has talked about the fact that Draco will be moving in with Harry at some point. If Draco has his way, some point soon. Draco’s eyes are dark and intense on Harry as he shuffles from foot to foot. Fuck. Now he’s made it awkward. Why does he always do this around hot men?

“Nice shoes,” Draco whispers after a moment and Harry lets out a sigh of relief. Talking about their clothes is a very safe topic, especially as, in general, Draco doesn’t like anything that he wears. He glances down at his feet and grins. “How do I look?” Harry looks up in shock at the tentative tone of Draco’s voice. He’s never nervous. Maybe Harry should tell him. But then images of George and Charlie flash through his mind and he decides against it. He can’t ruin their fun. They would literally kill him.

“Hmm…” He pretends to look Draco up and down appraisingly. The twat knows he looks hot. He can’t possibly not know. He has to know that that shade of green makes his hair richer, his eyes warmer, his skin more delicate. He has to know that the tie is adorable and sexy. He has to know that his jeans are perfectly fitted. Harry thinks about tell him all of this. But then, no. Fake boyfriend. “No robe?”

“I asked Ron and he said that if I wore a robe I’d be the only one…” Draco shrugs and Harry laughs. He gives Draco a shove and wanders into the living room where Ron and Hermione are waiting, holding the bowl of floo powder. Ron raises one eyebrow at them and takes a pinch.

“If Ginny has eaten all the bacon bites, I’m going to kill you,” he growls, chucking the powder into the fire and stepping in, “The Burrow!” He disappears and Hermione sighs, handing the dish to Harry.

“Even if Ginny hasn’t eaten them all, Charlie and George will have.” She shakes her head and throws a pinch of powder into the floo, disappearing along with her boyfriend. Harry holds the bowl out to Draco and lets him take a pinch before taking one himself and putting the bowl back on the mantelpiece. Right. This is happening. He tosses the powder into the fire and turns to Draco with a reassuring smile before stepping in and shouting for The Burrow. He’s tugged backwards, the familiar twist in his stomach making him feel sick, before he sees the fireplace and steps out. He trips as usual and a strong hand wraps around his forearm.

“Hey Harry,” Charlie smirks at him and Harry feels a bubble of excitement in his chest. This is either going to be hilarious or a disaster. Harry looks around to see George and Angelina standing near the fireplace, waiting with their arms crossed. Ginny is sitting in a large, over stuffed armchair, a bowl of bacon bites in her hand. Ron and Hermione are standing by her, Ron trying to steal the bites from Ginny’s bowl. Everyone is here. Behind him the floo flares up and Charlie shoves him towards Ron and Hermione.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” George turns and warns them before winking. Harry stifles a chuckle and nods. That warning was definitely for Hermione. There is no way that George would expect Harry or Ron to say anything. Charlie and George have been planning this since they found out about Harry and Draco. George settles his face into a scowl and looks back at the fireplace just as Draco steps out elegantly, holding a bottle of wine in his hand. Harry can’t help but feel a little bad at the look of complete fear in his eyes as he looks at the older Weasleys.

“Malfoy,” Charlie steps forward, broad and strong, and Draco pales, “we have a question for you before you come any further.” Draco glances at Harry, clearly asking for help, before turning back to Charlie. Harry belatedly realises that he’s never met Charlie before. All he knows about him is that he works with dragons and is a fantastic Seeker. He doesn’t know that Charlie is the gentlest man in the world. This is definitely going to be hilarious. 

“Ok…” Draco swallows, standing slightly taller. George moves next to Charlie and Draco actually winces back. He knows George. He also knows that he’s probably the reason why there isn’t Fred. Maybe Harry should have mentioned something to Draco. Not about the plan. But about the fact that the Weasleys are very forgiving, lovely people, and that George isn’t holding onto any anger.

“You have to understand, Harry is like family to us,” Charlie continues.

“So what we need to know, is what are your intentions with our little brother?” George’s voice is deeper than normal and next to Harry Ron snorts. Draco’s eyes flicker to Harry again, his pupils small and the grey almost white. If he wasn’t sure that George would punch him, Harry would step in right about now.

“Um… my intentions? Uh… well…” Draco stutters, looking endearing and Harry can’t help the laughter that escapes his lips. Ginny is quick to join him, followed by Angelina, George and Charlie barking as they cling to each other. Draco’s eyes are wide as he looks around at the Weasleys. A noise comes from the door to the kitchen and Bill walks into the room. Harry backs away quickly, following as Ginny slides from her chair and Ron tugs at Hermione’s jumper.

“What are you doing in here?” Bill asks, looking at them all, his kind eyes landing on Draco. Harry watches as Draco raises one eyebrow, clearly not sure what is going on. He is going to kill Harry when he finds out. Which looks like it’ll be happening sooner rather than later. Behind Bill, Blaise, Percy and Fleur wander into the living room, all looking as confused as Draco does. A new wave of hysterical laughter escapes from Harry. Bill frowns and looks at his family, doubled over in laughter. “What are you doing to Draco? Are you… ambushing him? Harry, didn’t you tell him we know you two aren’t actually in a relationship?”

“No… he didn’t,” Draco snarls, looking furious. Harry shrugs, his heart pounding, adrenalin running through him. It’s going to be fine. Draco is going to be fine. Entering the Weasley family is like a baptism of fire anyway. Draco is a strong man. Harry winks at him, pleased to see that Draco is starting to smile, colour returning to his cheeks and his eyes more a stormy grey now.

“It’s much funnier this way,” George chokes on his laughter, shouting as Bill goes to take a swipe at him. Bill goes to chase them and Charlie and George duck under his arms, running for the door, pushing the others through it as they escape the wrath of the oldest Weasley sibling.

*****

Seeing as it is Harry who has to propose to Draco, he feels that maybe the restaurant choice should have been his. It’s not that the food in the beautifully romantic Italian restaurant that Draco has chosen isn’t lovely. It’s just that it feels so… clichéd. And public. Not that he has to worry about Draco saying no. But it isn’t the general public that needs to be convinced about their engagement. It’s Draco’s parents.

Harry looks at Draco across the table from him. His hair is stylishly messy, as always, the top two buttons of his robe undone, revealing a deep blue shirt that makes Draco’s eyes look blue rather than grey. His fucking ever changing eyes. He’s been almost unbearable since Sunday lunch at The Burrow. Not that he didn’t have a good time. He did. He’s been back for the two since that first one. He was surprised after that first weekend that all the Weasley siblings weren’t there, but as Harry explained, they’d only come to see him. He’s not as interesting anymore. Not to the Weasleys. No. He’s been unbearable, because now Harry can’t stop looking at him like maybe, just maybe, this doesn’t have to be fake.

“What could you possibly be thinking about?” Draco drawls, “You look like you’re trying to read one of Hermione’s books.” Harry takes a deep breath. Right. Still a prick. Absolutely no way that Draco and him could ever be more than they are now.

“I’m thinking whether to get down on one knee, or to just throw the ring at you.” Harry raises one eyebrow at Draco as Draco sits looking bored. He could at least be nice on the date where Harry is supposed to be proposing. If this was real, which it’s not, Harry isn’t even sure that he would propose now. He’d probably not. Maybe he won’t tonight, just to spite Draco.

“Did you get the ring I showed you?” Draco asks, taking a bite of his food. Harry rolls his eyes. Of course he fucking didn’t. That would have been the sensible thing to do. Instead he’d dragged Ron around shops looking for something that would annoy Draco. Not that it had worked. They’d sort of ended up finding the perfect ring for him, in a tiny little wizarding shop in Hogsmeade. Harry had almost not bought it, but as Ron had pointed out, it would annoy Draco enough that he hadn’t bought the ring that Draco had picked out. He might as well get a nice ring out of it.

“When do you want me to do this? Now? Over coffee? Do you want me to hide the ring in a piece of cake and get the waiter to bring it out to you?” Harry grinned and Draco looked at him with a blank face. Right. Muggle film references. Harry sighs and shakes his head. Draco rolls his eyes and goes back to eating his food. Harry watches as he takes small bites of food, his lips pink and full as they wrap around spaghetti. Ok. Maybe Harry shouldn’t look at Draco’s lips.

“Will I need to have one our house elves bring my things to Grimmauld Place?” Draco asks after a minutes and Harry bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying anything bad. He watches as Draco stares at him, his eyes warm in the low light. Draco raises one eyebrow, looking arrogant and bored and fucking gorgeous. Fuck it, he can’t be bothered to bite back anything. The fucker.

“What are they going to bring that you can’t bring yourself? A bed? Your parents won’t notice that it’s gone?” Harry can hear the sarcasm dripping from his voice, but can’t seem to stop himself. Maybe if they get into an argument he can stop think about how attractive he looks him candlelight. He makes a mental not to never buy any candles when Draco does eventually move in. Candles are not his friend here.

“Do you have a bed for me to sleep in?” Draco places his fork down and leans back, looking down at Harry disdainfully. Harry snorts and copies Draco, his fork clanking against the plate horribly. Does he have a bed? He lives in a house with more bedrooms than anything else.

“Of course I have a bed!” Harry hisses, anger bubbling in his stomach. Yes. This is better. Better to be angry at Draco than… well than anything else. 

“Not your bed.” Draco snaps and Harry growls. The prick.

“No! Not my bed.” Draco glares at him and he drops his voice. “There are eight bedrooms in Grimmauld place. They all have beds in them. You can pick which one you want and we’ll move it into whichever room you want. Happy?” Harry snaps and Draco’s lip starts to twitch. Right. The wanker knows how many bedrooms there are. It’s his ancestral home. And he’s spent enough time there with Harry to know the layout of the building. Wanker.

“As happy as I can be,” Draco grimaces and for a second Harry thinks that he’s being insulted. And then he remembers that he’s having to pretend to marry someone just to be able to live where he wants. That must suck. Harry can’t imagine ever having to do something like that. He gives Draco a small smile and leans forward, their feet brushing together.

“Should I be upset that you said that on the night I’m going to propose to you?” He growls, keeping his voice low and sweet. Draco’s eyebrows rise slightly, but he doesn’t move his foot away. Instead he leans forward, one hand brushing lightly against Harry’s, sending shivers through Harry. Fuck. He probably shouldn’t be flirting. But, fuck it, he’s about to propose to the man. He’s allowed to flirt with him a little bit.

“Harry, I can honestly say, with my hand on my heart, that you are the only thing making me happy right now.” Draco’s voice is so smooth that for a moment Harry doesn’t hear the words he’s said. And then it registers and he searches Draco’s face, looking for signs that he’s lying. His stomach twists pleasantly when he realises that he can’t find any. And he’s an Auror. He’d know.

“So I have a question to ask you, seeing as I’m making you so happy,” Harry whispers, suddenly feeling nervous. Why should he feel nervous? He knows Draco is going to say yes. This is what they’ve been leading up to. He takes Draco’s hand in his and fumbles in his pocket with the other one. Draco’s eyes are wide, a faint blush across his cheeks and Harry realises that he wasn’t expecting Harry to propose then. Maybe he was waiting for the ring hidden in the cake.

“Harry…” Draco breathes as Harry manages to get the box out of his pocket. Harry can feel Draco’s hand trembling and suddenly he understands. This is real. This is it. No backing out. Once Harry proposes, Draco is moving in with him. Even if it’s just until he finds someone that he actually wants to marry. The thought of someone else makes Harry feel sick and he pushes the thought away as he holds the box out to Draco.

“Marry me?” He asks, gazing at Draco’s face. Something flickers in those perfect fucking eyes, something that Harry can’t quite grasp and then Draco nods. Letting go of Harry’s hand he takes the box and opens it. He looks at Harry and frowns slightly. “Do you like it?” Harry asks. Draco’s long fingers dip into the box and pull out the ring, simple silver, a snake and a lion intertwined on the top. It’s smaller than the signet ring that he wears on his right hand, more intricate. Ron is convinced they’re fighting, but Harry can see something different, something deeper. He stares at Draco’s face as Draco tilts it, watching as the two figures catch the light.

“Draco?” He prompts finally and Draco looks up, seemingly shocked. “Do you like it?” he asks again, suddenly worried that Draco hates it. Draco’s lips stretch into a wide smile and he slips it onto his ring finger, the lion and snake heads sticking up as they bare their teeth to each other.

“I love it. It’s perfect.”

*****

“Remind me again why I couldn’t just get a house elf to bring all this stuff to Grimmauld Place and get them to unpack for me.” Draco grumbles as they pack boxes in his room at Malfoy Manor. Considering how quickly they are moving, Draco’s parents seem to be quite happy with Draco leaving. Maybe it’s because he’s just moving into Gimmauld Place, which is rightfully Draco’s really. Harry looks up from where he’s packing books and raises an eyebrow.

“Firstly, because Hermione kicked up a fuss about house elves, and for some reason Pansy backed her. Secondly, because Dean and Seamus told Goyle about the muggle tradition of having your friends help you move and unpack and Goyle got excited about the idea. And lastly, because if your house elves find out what our sleeping arrangements are it might get back to your parents.” Harry finishes and goes back to taping up the box. When it’s done he shrinks it and puts it with the other boxes in his pocket.

He goes to the last box to be packed and starts to fill it with odd bits that Draco is insisting on moving into the house. There’s a small practice snitch that Harry thinks is the first that Draco ever caught, an enchanted snow globe that doesn’t need shaking, and four little boxes with various bits in. One of them is filled with buttons and it strikes Harry that having a box of buttons is a little weird. When he mentioned it to Draco he’d gotten a look of pure disdain and so hasn’t bothered to ask again.

“I’m ready,” Draco says suddenly and Harry smiles at him, taping up the box and picking it up. He doesn’t shrink it. He’s not sure how magical artefacts like the snow globe react to being shrunk. They get to the doorway and Draco stops, turning to look into the room. Harry feels warm, like he’s watching something he shouldn’t be. Something too intimate. This is Draco leaving his childhood home. Harry tries to remember what it felt like when he left Privet Drive. Maybe not the best comparison.

“Do you want me to give you a minute?” he asks, keeping his voice low and soothing. Shaking his head, Draco reaches out, his long fingers pale and bony. Harry shuffles the box onto one hip and takes Draco’s hand, ignoring the pang in his chest. Draco stands for a minute more, staring at the room, his grey eyes watery and flickering around the room. Without thinking, because really, when has he ever, Harry steps forward and presses a soft kiss to Draco’s shoulder. He watches as Draco seems to relax, one tear falling down his cheek before he coughs, letting go of Harry’s hand and shutting the door to his bedroom.

“Mother and Father are waiting for us by the floo.” Draco’s voice cracks a little and Harry smiles at him. They walk silently down the corridor, their shoulders bumping occasionally. Harry wants to say something, because being around a silent Draco is somewhat unnerving, but he has no idea what to say. What do you say to someone leaving their family home to live in a house with their fake fiancé? It’s just… it’s not a normal situation.

They make their way down the stairs and into the atrium with the floo connection. Lucius and Narcissa are standing next to it, their backs straight, their eyes shining. They’re probably sad too. Hermione had said it was unusual for an heir to leave the family home. Maybe they expected that Draco would live there forever. Harry keeps his distance as Draco shares an awkward looking hug with his father and a tighter, closer hug with his mother. He really is out of place here. This is where Draco’s actual future life partner should be standing. Not him. 

“And we’ll see you for tea on Monday?” Narcissa asks, her voice too quiet. He really shouldn’t be here. Draco and his parents should have some privacy. He steps forward, the box making an unfortunately loud noise and pulls a face that he hope looks sort of apologetic. Maybe it’s better if he just stands and waits. “And you, Harry. You’ll come too?” Narcissa’s eyes are on him and for a moment he panics. He has no way of getting out of that. Of course he doesn’t; it’s his fake future in-laws. He has to come to tea.

“Sure,” he nods. Narcissa lets out a shaky breath, kissing Draco on the cheek. They move towards the floo, taking a pinch. Draco throws the powder in first, giving his mum a watery smile, before stepping into the fire and disappearing. Harry turns to look at the Malfoys, not really sure what he should say, but knowing he should say something. “Don’t worry… I’ll look after him.” Lucius and Narcissa nod at him and then he turns, chucking some powder into the fireplace and disappearing home.

When he lands in his fireplace he’s greeted by a lot of noise and movement. He frowns, looking around the room to see that there seems to be a party. Their friends are crowded around Draco, a large banner flashing against the wall, music blaring from his muggle CD player. The banner flashes and Harry smiles as he reads the message. ‘Welcome Home Draco. Good Luck Living With Harry’. Well, at least his friends are funny.

“Harry’s here!” Dean shouts from where he’s stood by a table covered in different sized bottles. There’s a loud cheer and Harry turns to put the box down on the floor next to the fireplace. Draco is shoved at him and a drink is placed in his hand. He looks at their friends, their smiles infectious. Thank fuck this was here for when Draco arrived.

“Right! I’m giving a toast!” Pansy shouts and everyone shuts up as she looks at them, her eyes piercing, “To Harry and Draco. The cutest fake couple I have ever seen. May they live in harmony until one of them kills the other one.”

“My bets on Draco killing Harry after three weeks! Any takers?” Seamus shouts and every laughs. Pansy glares at him before turning back to Harry and Draco and raising her glass.

“To the Potter-Malfoys!” she shouts. Gazing around the room as everyone cheers Harry starts to feel like maybe this will be ok. All he has to do is stop looking at Draco and only listen to him when he’s being and arse, which is 90% of the time. He can do that. Easy. He will absolutely not fall for his fake fiancé. A warm hand on his lower back makes him jump and he turns to see Draco looking down at him, his grey eyes dark.

“Thank you, Harry,” he whispers before moving away to join their friends. Well. Fuck.

*****

It hasn’t taken long for Harry and Draco to fall into some sort of weird routine. If Harry thinks about it too much, which he’s been seriously trying not to do, then he’d have to admit they’ve sort of started acting like a couple. Except without the sex. 

On Mondays they go to Malfoy Manor for tea, unless Draco is working nights or Harry is working a case, and on Sunday they go to The Burrow for lunch. Harry cooks on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays and Draco cooks on Wednesdays. On Fridays they meet at the Leaky with their friends and neither of them cooks, but if Draco is feeling adventurous they’ll pick up a kebab on the way home. Draco does their washing, and Harry cleans the dishes. They watch TV whilst Harry fills in paperwork that he should have done at the office, and Draco reads him passages from medical journals when his eyes are hurting too much to focus on anything.

It also hasn’t taken long for Hermione to notice. Harry knows she’s noticed because every time she comes over to see them she stares at him before humming to herself. He’s known her long enough to know that means she’s figured something out. When he asked Ron about it, Ron went bright red and said that Hermione was nuts and Harry shouldn’t pay her any attention. Which means Hermione has definitely noticed.

Harry huffs to himself at the thought and goes back to trying to fill in the report. Maybe he could pay Ron to fill it out for him. Ron always manages to finish his paperwork. Or Draco. Draco’s listened to him moan about paperwork enough over the past few weeks. He could probably fill it all out as easily as Harry could. He glances up to see Draco immersed in the film on the TV. Die Hard. Good film. Shame that Harry can’t watch it properly. 

“Draco…” he whines slightly, poking at the other man with one of his toes.

“Forget it Harry. If you don’t want to do your paperwork now, just leave it for tomorrow. No one is going to complain that you haven’t filled it out.” Draco’s eyes don’t leave the screen and Harry looks so see a very beaten and bruise Bruce Willis on the screen. Maybe Draco is right. Maybe he should just leave it for tonight. Although he always does that and that means that he has to spend Saturday mornings filling it all in. If he ever becomes Head Auror, after suffering some sort of personality-altering head injury, he’ll make it so that people have to do less paperwork.

“But then I’ll have to do it on Saturday,” he moans and Draco sighs, pausing the film and turning to Harry. His grey eyes are serious and slightly red and suddenly Harry feels bad. It must have been a rough day at work. Now he thinks about it Draco hasn’t said anything about the medical implausibility of the film, and that’s usually his favourite thing to do when watching. He must be tired. And now Harry is moaning at him. He’s the worst fiancé ever. Except he isn’t actually Draco’s fiancé.

“Are we really going to do this tonight, Harry? Because I am tired. I’d like to watch the film. I’d like to watch the film with you, but not if you’re going to complain about your paperwork. We both know what’s going to happen. You’re going to complain, you’re not going to do your paperwork and then you’re going to do it on Saturday morning. You might even drag Ron around to help you. So can you please put it down and just watch the film?” Draco’s voice is rough and Harry feels stupidly guilty. Draco doesn’t even sound angry. Just really, really tired. Harry closes the file in his lap and puts it down on the floor.

“What happened today?” He asks, scooting forward on the sofa to get closer to Draco. Because it’s easier to talk to him like that. Not because he wants to be closer to the man or anything. It’s really a shame that Draco’s stopped being such a twat. It was so much easier to find him annoying when he was being self-important. Draco looks at him and slumps further into the sofa.

“Everything. Three splinches this morning, serious ones, someone with severe spell damage from some backstreet duel, someone with boils all over their skin and half their face melted from a cauldron explosion, two Aurors, Jackson and Peterson, who got caught during a raid, and seven, not one or two, seven people under the influence of strong love potions. It’s not even Valentines. It’s November for fucks sake.” Draco rubs his face, his long fingers pressing into his eyes and Harry grabs his shoulder and turns him around to that his back is to Harry. Harry isn’t quite sure what he’s doing, or why he’s doing it, but he starts to rub as Draco’s shoulders, watching as they relax. “It’s just… I’ve been on my feet all day. I didn’t even get time to go and see Mrs Julien and then she passed…”

“Oh, man… I’m so sorry.” Harry knows how much it kills Draco when someone dies. The last time one of his patients died he wouldn’t leave his room for three days. Something about not being quick enough. Harry didn’t really get the details, but it sounded like it was a kid who died just as Draco was trying to fix the spell damage.

“Yeah… it’s just… it’s why I became a Healer,” Draco breathes, leaning back into Harry a little. Harry ignores the way his chest aches and his stomach twists. “I caused so much pain as a child. I just… I need to do something to make it up to the world.” Harry runs his fingers along Draco’s neck, unable to take his eyes off the creamy skin disappearing into the cashmere jumper he’s wearing. It’s so smooth, and the jumper is so soft, and the little hairs at the base of Draco’s neck are so pale. He runs one thumb over them, feeling them baby soft under his skin, and Draco lets out a small moan.

“You do a great job, Draco…” Harry breathes, becoming braver with his fingers, “you can’t save everyone.” He runs his hands through Draco’s hair, letting the silky strands run through his fingers. It’s exactly as he’s imagined it. Not that he’s imagined it a lot. Or at all. Draco leans his head back as Harry continues to slide his hands through his hair, messing it up completely.

“Hmm… says you, Saviour of the Wizarding World.” Draco’s voice is thick, slow and Harry starts to feel uncomfortable in his trousers. Shit. This isn’t good. Draco lets out another small moan and Harry closes his eyes. Maybe it is good. Maybe. But no. None of this is real. He isn’t really in a relationship with Draco. This is all fake. He goes to pull his hands away and Draco’s head follows them, Draco’s muscled back pressing against Harry’s stomach, his head resting on Harry’s chest. Fuck.

“I didn’t save everyone…” Harry croaks, trying to get his brain into gear. This can’t be a bad thing. Draco is clearly enjoying it, clearly needing it after such a shit day, and he… well he isn’t opposed to Draco leant against him. Draco’s smell washes over him and he knows. He’s completely fucking lost. He knew this would happen. He should have never agreed to the fake relationship thing. He should have said no. But that’s not what Harry Potter does, is it. Harry Potter saves people.

He belatedly realises that Draco has stilled under his hands. Fuck. What did he say? What happened? He opens his eyes and looks down at Draco. Draco is staring up at him, his grey eyes dancing in the light from the TV, his mouth slightly open. Fuck, he looks like sex. Harry could lean down now, and just… No. Bad idea.

“It wasn’t your fault that people died, Harry. It was a war.” Draco’s Adam’s apple bobs as he talks, and Harry can’t stop watching him. He’s so fucking beautiful. Harry knew he was an attractive man, but then he always opened his mouth and said something shit. But this Draco, lying on him after a tiring day at work, soft in the light, telling Harry it wasn’t his fault. This Draco is irresistible. Harry swallows and nods. He is in big trouble.

“It wasn’t your fault that your dad was a nutter…” Harry whispers, bending closer. His eyes flit over Draco’s face, his thumb moving to trace the thin scar of the Sectumsempra. You can’t really see it in the day light, it’s so thin. But in the evening, there’s something about the low lighting that shows off the slash. Harry knows that if there’s one on Draco’s face there must be lots on his chest. He did that. The thought makes him feel sick.

Long, strong fingers wrap around his hand and stop him from stroking at the scar. He looks into Draco’s eyes, his head bending closer, so close that he can feel Draco’s breath on his skin. He should pull away. But then, Draco isn’t pulling away. Maybe he wants this as well. Maybe this could be real. Harry’s head spins, his chest tight as he moves closer. This is it. He’s going to kiss Draco Malfoy. Fuck. He’s going to kiss Draco Malfoy.

His head shifts slightly and Draco tilts his back, bringing their lips closer. Harry’s eyes shut and all he can feel is how close Draco is, how warm everything is, how much he wants it. His groin throbs and his fingers shake as he feels Draco’s lips ghost across his. The room is silent, the only noise their breathing and Harry’s body aches for it.

A loud tapping on the window makes him jump and his eyes spring open as he looks up. Draco moves swiftly, sitting up and nearly whacking his head against Harry’s. The tapping continues and, with a glance at Draco, Harry goes to the window. Opening the curtains, a small owl flutters in the wind, a large letter hanging from its foot. Harry opens the window, letting Pig in and taking the letter off his foot and opening it.

“Impeccable timing Ron,” he mutters to himself before remembering that Draco is in the room. He turns to find that Draco is rubbing his eyes again, standing by the door. “Ron telling us to bring our brooms on Sunday…” he says, holding up the letter. Draco smiles at him, a soft, sad smile and nods.

“Absolutely,” he stretches, his jumper riding up, drawing Harry’s eyes to the strip of pale skin, “I’m shattered. I think I’ll head to bed…” Harry’s neck spasms as he whips his head up to look at Draco. Ok. Moment over. Maybe he didn’t want it. Maybe it was just that, a moment. Harry sighs and nods, watching as Draco leaves the room and feeling horribly disappointed and horribly in love.

*****

“Maybe we should have taken you to St Mungo’s?” Ron suggests as he carries Harry through the front door of Grimmauld Place. They couldn’t use the floo in Harry’s condition, and they hadn’t even wanted to try Apparating. Harry grunts, his head spinning, and leans against the wall.

“I’m fine…” he groans. His side feels like it’s about to burst open, and he’s pretty sure he should be able to feel the right side of his body. “I’m only 27 for fucks sake. I am fit and healthy enough for my body to mend itself. I just need sleep.” He starts to try to hobble to the stairs. A bed would be good. Or a sofa. Something he can lie down on. He gets to the first step and collapses. Ron’s arms are around his waist before he can even hit the floor and Harry remembers why he made Ron Keeper all those years ago. And why he has always insisted that Ron is his partner when he needs one.

“Harry is that you?” a sleepy voice calls from upstairs and Harry groans again. Shit. They woke Draco. Now he’s going to get a bollocking from two people about not going to St Mungo’s. But, really. He’ll be fine. He goes to shout for Draco to go to sleep and ends up coughing, not able to get enough air into his lungs. Ok. Maybe this is sort of bad.

“Thank fuck you’re here, Draco!” Ron shouts and Harry can hear the panic in his voice. There’s a loud thudding and Harry looks up to see Draco running down the stairs in only his jogging bottoms. His chest is pale, and Harry can see the faint lines of scars. He was right. There are lots. He goes to push Ron off but Ron’s grip tightens around his chest.

“Ron, gerroff…” Harry mumbles, his lips not quite working. Ok, so more of his body is going numb. He tries to think about what the spell could have been that hit him. Paralysing maybe? Or some sort of Weight Changer? His side starts to throb where he was hit and he hisses as he feels Ron begin to drag him up the stairs towards the living room.

“What happened?” Draco is close. He can smell him. Fuck he smells so fucking good. Even when he’s just woken up.

“What do you think? This idiot jumped in front of a curse instead of just putting up a shield and then refused to go to St Mungo’s. I would have forced him to, but he seems alright, just a bit achy.” Ron’s arm slides away from him and another arm slips around his back. He looks at the two men beside him, carrying him up the stairs and his chest swells. Isn’t this nice. It’s nice to have people who love you this much. “How comes you’re home?” Ron’s voice is loud in his ear.

“I’m on nights this week… I’ll see what I can do now, but if he doesn’t get better I’ll take him in with me,” Draco mumbles. Harry tries to open his mouth to say that he’s fine, that he doesn’t need to go to the hospital, but he finds that he can’t. Ok. This is definitely worse than he thought it was. He can’t walk, talk or apparently think straight. Maybe he should have gone to the hospital. He just hates it there so much. And he lives with a Healer. One of the best ones there is. Why would he go to the hospital when their best Healer was at home?

The door to the living room opens and Ron and Draco manoeuvre him onto the sofa. This is better. This is much more comfortable. Harry looks up at the two of them and tries to smile. Right. His lips don’t work. Nothing works. Hopefully his heart and brain still work, because if they don’t then that is a problem. He needs those.

“Ron, can you go and get me my wand and case from my bedroom? I’m going to get his clothes off.” Draco’s voice sounds very serious. Harry has heard him sound like that before when he’s ended up in St Mungo’s and Draco has been on duty. Draco always makes sure that he sees Harry if he’s on duty. That’s nice of him. For a brief moment Harry wonders why. The door shuts and Harry thinks that Ron must have left whilst he was distracted with thinking.

“Ok. I need to get your robes and t-shirt off, Harry. So I can see where you’ve been hit. I’d tell you to keep still, but, well… you can’t move.” Draco’s fingers run over his Auror robes quickly, undoing them and pulling them away from his chest. He tries to get Harry into a position where he can take them off and clearly decides otherwise. The door opens again and suddenly Harry can see Ron. Ron looks worried. Which makes no sense, because he has seen Harry a lot worse than this before.

“Need some help?” Ron asks and Draco nods, lifting Harry as Ron helps to peel his robes and t-shirt off. Harry can’t look down, but judging by the funny colour Ron goes it doesn’t look good. They lie him back down and both stare for a minute. If Harry could talk he’d tell them to hurry the fuck up. He might not be able to move, but he can still feel, and he can feel that it’s freezing in this room. “I’m going to light a fire, he’s starting to get goosebumps…” Ron grumbles moving to the fireplace.

Draco nods and picks his wand up, waving it over Harry and muttering spells under his breath. Harry recognises some of them from the small medics course he had to take during his Auror training for on-site medical emergencies. Draco’s frown gets deeper and he keeps shaking his head, his hair rippling as he moves. It looks a complete mess. He’d never normally let people see him like that. He must have literally just got out of bed. Oh right. Yes, he was asleep. Sleep sounds very good at the moment. Harry tries to close his eyes, but finds that he can’t.

“Any clues?” Ron mutters, moving back across the room. Ron looks even more worried than Draco. Poor Ron. He’s always worrying about Harry. He should be worrying about other things. He’s been looking for an engagement ring for Hermione. He should be worrying about that.

“Yes. I’ve seen this before. It’s a variant of Petrificus Totalus. It causes some of the same symptoms, being fully bound, unable to move, except it takes longer to work, so by the time the person is completely still there’s not much that we can do. His brain and heart will still work, but that’s all…” Draco’s voice is very tight and for a moment Harry thinks he’s going to pass out. Nothing they can do? That’s not good. He needs to be able to move. Moving is quite important.

“So… he’s stuck like this?” Ron asks shakily, colour draining from his face. Draco glances at him and gives him a reassuring smile.

“No… sorry, that was insensitive,” Draco moves away from Harry and starts to root around in his case, “it hasn’t completely taken hold yet. Harry probably can’t move his own body, but if I were to, say, knock on his patellar tendon, his leg would still twitch. And if I shine a light in his eyes his pupils will still dilate. His reflex actions. The spell won’t completely take hold for another hour or so yet.” Thank fuck. Harry tries to let out a grateful sigh, but finds he can’t. Right. So his reflex actions might be working, but he’s still going to pass out from not being able to breathe.

“Um… can he breathe?” Ron eyes Harry, colour returning to his cheeks. Draco’s head snaps to Harry and he shakes his head to himself before turning back to his bag. He pulls out a small bottle and Harry groans. He can’t swallow. There’s no way he can take a potion. Draco goes back into the bag and takes out a large pack that Harry knows from experience contains a needle. Great. He was stupid to ever doubt Draco. Draco is a fantastic Healer.

The second that Draco has given him the injections, one into his jaw and one into his stomach, Harry feels a weight being lifted off his chest. He gasps for breath, a raspy sound filling the room. Thank fuck he can breathe. And move his mouth. That’s good. He practices a little, still unable to move his arms or head or even blink. But he can talk. Fuck, yes!

“Thanks…” he croaks and Draco nods, “so what do we do now?” Draco frowns at him and glances at Ron.

“We need to take you to St Mungo’s. I don’t have everything I need here,” he whispers, his voice losing some of its edge, “Ron, could you Apparate to St Mungo’s and tell them that I’ll be there in ten minutes with Harry Potter. See if you can find Parvarti, she should be on shift right now. I’ll need operating room five.” Ron nods, giving Harry a small smile before turning and disappearing with a pop. The room is filled with silence for a moment and he can almost see the anger radiating from Draco. He takes a deep breath.

“Draco–“

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you go to the hospital, Potter?” he spits, Harry’s name sounding harsh on his lips “Why would you come home. You got hit with a curse. You didn’t know what the curse was. It could have been anything.” He glances over at Harry. Harry can see the hurt in his eyes, shining. His body is shaking, the muscles rippling as he clenches his hands. Fuck, he’s gorgeous when he’s angry. Harry tries to frown at himself. Now is not the time to be thinking that.

“Because I thought I was fine… And I am. You said you can fix it. What would have happened if I’d gone to the hospital? Would they have been able to do anything different?” Harry tries to argue but he knows that Draco is right. He should have gone. It’s Auror policy to go. But he’d known that Draco was at home, and after a hard fight he’d just wanted to sit and watch TV with Draco and go to bed. He hadn’t wanted to think about being hurt.

“They would have been able to stop it sooner! It would have been easier! It wouldn’t have required surgery of any sort!” Draco shouts, standing up and grabbing a hoodie from the back of the armchair. He slips it on, glancing down before turning back to Harry and frowning. Harry’s lips twitch and he forces himself not to smile at Draco in Harry’s jumper, his hair a mess, his jogging bottoms slung low on his hips. “You’re a selfish fucking prick Potter,” Draco snarls and Harry feels like he can’t breathe.

“Hey! That isn’t fair–“

“Isn’t it? You could have just gone straight to the hospital. They would have flooed me anyway. You could have got Ron to come and get me. But no… you just wanted to do what you wanted. With no thought about how other people might feel! What am I supposed to do if you… Fuck it, Harry. Fuck you.” Draco runs his hands through his hair and Harry needs to go to him, needs to hold him and tell him it’s ok. Except he can’t, because he can’t fucking move. Draco takes a deep breath and looks across at Harry. “Just… promise me you’ll go to St Mungo’s from now on. If you want me to see you, you can ask, but please go there first.”

“I promise.” Harry tries to nod vigorously, but his head doesn’t move. Right. Paralysed. He watches as Draco runs his hand through his hair again and nods once before grabbing his wand. Ok. That can only be good. Draco is clearly back in Healer mode, and not angry fiancé mode. Angry fake fiancé mode. Is that a thing?

“Thank you,” Draco whispers before turning to get St Mungo’s to open the floo.

*****

Harry has to tell him. He can’t carry on like this anymore. He’s been working up to this moment for the past three weeks, ever since the night of the almost-kiss. He just needs to tell Draco that he’s got feelings for him, and they either need to be together properly, or… well Harry doesn’t really have an ‘or’. He’s sort of hoping he doesn’t need one. He glances across at where Draco is cooking, his hips swaying slightly as he listens to the music on the wireless. It’s some new Weird Sisters song, and it seems to have been played at least ten times in the last hour. Draco pauses to look at the scrap of paper which has Molly’s instructions on it and Harry can’t help grinning. His heart aches and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. His side twinges and he lets out a small hiss. Draco turns around and frowns.

“How’s it doing?” Draco uses his knife to point at Harry’s side. Harry lifts up his t-shirt, showing Draco the thick pink scar where Draco had had to open him up to counter the spell working through his body. Harry had been in theatre for three hours and after he’s woken up it’d taken a week of physio to get him back to normal. Draco had been very good at not saying ‘I told you so’, but Harry knew that’s what he is thinking every time the scar aches.

“It’s fine. Just a little twitchy sometimes…” Harry grins at him and he rolls his eyes, going back to cooking. Harry knows he’s building up to say something. Draco’s shoulders are tense and his chopping has gotten harder. Harry stands up and moves around to lean next to Draco. He watches for a moment as Draco chops, the muscles in his forearms flexing. Draco never shows is forearms in public, preferring to keep the mark hidden, even though it’s significantly faded in the nine years since the war. He’d been talking about getting a tattoo over it, covering it completely so that he could wear t-shirts or roll his sleeves up in public.

“Have you been putting the salve on it every morning?” Draco’s voice is small and Harry nudges at him with his knee. Draco glares at him, but Harry can see the corners of his lips twitching. Fuck, he’s so perfect.

“You know that I have.” Harry reaches over and picks up a piece of pepper, crunching on it as he watches Draco look between the recipe and the vegetables in front of him, “So have you thought any more about what tattoo you’re going to get?” Draco looks at him, one eyebrow raised and Harry points to his arm. Draco’s twists to look at the dark mark and frowns.

“A little… I was thinking something very pretty. The opposite of what it is now. Maybe something with flowers?” Draco turns his arm again, the both of them looking at how the faded mark shifts. When Harry had first seen it he’d felt sick. All that perfect alabaster skin being marred by something so dark. But now, now it’s part of Draco, part of what make him who he is. Harry knows that there isn’t anyone in the world who could hate what Draco did more than Draco himself.

“You could just get a giant kitten over the top,” Harry smirks and Draco gives him a withering look before going back to cutting. “Or… I dunno, a broomstick? Or a compass? What about a pattern?”

“What are you on about, Harry?” Draco interrupts, putting the knife down and turning to look at him. Harry takes a deep breath and moves slightly closer, feeling the heat of Draco against his side, Draco’s smell washing over him and making him dizzy. He looks up at the other man through his eyelashes and shrugs, hoping that he looks at least a little bit sexy. Judging by the way Draco’s eyes darken and his tongue runs along his lower lip, pick and pointy and perfect, he's doing well.

“I was thinking that maybe when you went and got yours done I’d come too and get the same thing over my scar. Sort of to remind me to go to St Mungo’s if I ever get hurt on the job again.” He shrugs and watches Draco carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. Draco’s chest rises and falls quickly, his cheeks going rosy as he blushes, his eyes darting between Harry’s. Ok. That’s got to be a good thing. He isn’t scoffing and saying no.

“You want to get matching tattoos? You know… I’ve had a matching tattoo before,” Draco breathes, his voice rough. Harry chuckles and moves closer again, sliding almost between Draco and the work bench. His heart pounds in his chest and his fingers tingle. This is it. He’s going to kiss Draco and then they’ll be a proper couple. It’ll be brilliant. He can already imagine what Draco tastes like. 

“Yeah… but this would be different,” Harry smiles at him, holding onto the side to stop himself from wrapping Draco in his arms. He needs to make sure that this is what Draco wants too. Although judging by the past month and a half, this is exactly what Draco wants.

“How would this be different?” Draco’s eyes dart down to Harry’s lips and Harry smirks moving his hand to slide around Draco’s waist, pulling him closer. Draco stumbles slightly, but presses one leg between Harry’s, energy and magic zinging between them. This is going to happen. Fuck, this is really going to happen. Clearly this fake relationship thing is the best decision that Harry has ever made.

“Because it wouldn’t be about a mad man controlling you. It would be about the two of us,” Harry pulls Draco closer, their noses almost touching, “helping each other. Supporting each other. Being there for each other.” He can feel Draco’s breath on his lips, can see the grey of his eyes ripple, almost black. Harry can hear the blood pump around his body, his legs numb, his heart beating so hard his chest hurts with it. Fuck he wants this. He wants Draco. 

“Harry…” Draco breathes and Harry presses forwards, their noses rubbing together. This is it. This is… a loud buzz fills the room and Draco jumps back, hitting Harry in the chest and taking away his warmth. He moves over to turn the timer off and take whatever it is out of the oven and Harry growls, spinning around, and slamming his hand down on the counter. Fucking hell! He cannot catch a break. He turns back to look at Draco. Maybe they can get the moment back.

“Draco–”

“I’ve been thinking,” Draco jumps in, not making eye contact with Harry, “I might start looking for my own place.” Harry feels his legs wobble and his stomach clench. What? No. He can feel his eyebrows raise, his mouth dropping open, no words coming out of them. He doesn’t understand. They’re perfect together. What could Draco possibly not like about living here? Unless… unless it’s him.

“Why?” Harry finally manages and Draco finally looks up from the pie crust in his hand. His eyes are watering and his mouth is drawn down. He looks miserable and all Harry wants to do is go to him, to let him know that it’s ok. Except it’s not ok. Because Draco wants to leave, and that’s not ok.

“Because…” Draco whispers, “Because we were only doing this so that I could move out. So I could have my own space, my own freedom to just… be by myself. And if I stay here… it’s just moving from one ancestral home to another.” Harry feels numb as he watches Draco move around the kitchen, clearly gaining confidence in his ‘I’m leaving you’ speech. How could he not realise that Harry is literally having a breakdown here? How can he be so calm, when they almost kissed? Harry stumbles to a chair and sits down, not really sure what to say.

“Um…” he stutters, searching for the words. Should he be ok with this? Should he help Draco find somewhere? Should he try to convince him not to leave? “Listen, if this is about us–“

“It’s not!” Draco shouts, spinning to stare at Harry, “It’s about me. I need to be on my own for a bit. I’m sorry…” Draco’s voice sounds so small Harry can’t help himself. He’s out of the chair and across the kitchen in seconds, his arms wrapping around the taller man, pulling him close and nuzzling his head into the crook of Draco’s neck. Fuck, he smells so good. He’s going to miss that. But it’s not like they’ll never see each other. Of course they will.

“Don’t apologise. It’ll be great,” Harry mutters and he feels Draco relax against him.

“Really?” Draco asks, suddenly sounding stronger and Harry laughs, letting go and stepping back to look at his fake fiancé and soon to be ex-roommate.

“Yeah… it will.”

*****

“This is not great,” Harry grumbles to Ron, his head on the table, a butterbeer in his hand, “this is the exact opposite of great.” Beside him he can hear Ron shuffle, clearly not sure what part he’s supposed to be playing in this conversation. Although to be fair to him, Harry isn’t sure what part Ron is supposed to be playing either. Maybe he should have talked to Hermione about this. Except then Hermione would try to do something, and there is no way that Harry can force Draco to stay at Grimmauld Place. He’s supposed to be being the ultra-supportive friend.

“What’s not great?” Ron asks, his voice bored and slow. Ok, so maybe they’ve been talking about Draco for too long today. But, really, it’s not great! It’s a fucking disaster. Harry lifts his head and glares at Ron, choosing to ignore the twitch at the corner of Ron’s lip.

“That Draco is out there with fucking Pansy and Blaise looking for a new place to live!” Harry groans a little too loudly. Ron doesn’t even try to hide his smirk this time, his long body leant back in the chair, looking too relaxed for this kind of crisis. Ron take a long sip from his bottle, his eyes never leaving Harry, one eyebrow raised and that fucking smirk still on his face.

“So, tell me Harry, why isn’t that great?” Ron asks finally, twirling his bottle on the table top. Harry carries on glaring at Ron. Ron knows why it isn’t great. Ron is being a dick.

“It’s not great because it means that he’ll be moving out of here. What’s the point of him leaving here? This is his home. This is where he belongs! This is his fucking biological birth right!” Harry knows his voice is getting too loud, but he can’t stop himself. If Draco leaves it means that their relationship is ending. Their fake relationship. Their fake relationship that he was hoping would become less fake and more real. They almost kissed, for fucks sake.

“Uh huh…” Ron leans forward, “you don’t think that that might be one of the reasons he wants to leave? I mean… he wanted to get away from his parents and now he’s basically moved into another one of his houses. It doesn’t make sense, mate. Why would he stay here?”

“Because! Because!” Harry shouts, standing from his chair and walking into the middle of the kitchen, adrenaline running through him. Because this is where Harry is. And Draco should be with Harry. In their house where they’ve made their life. Ok, so maybe it’s not the nicest house. Ok, so maybe Harry needs to do more to it then take off the house elf heads and the awful portraits. But they could do that together.

“Because?” Ron prompts, his eyes following Harry as he paces. Harry growls and runs his hands through his hair.

“Because I’m here. Because this is where he’s meant to be. With me!” He knows he sounds irrational. He probably looks irrational. He’s being a little irrational if he’s honest with himself. But it’s hard to control himself when the love of his life is out looking for a new place to live, without him. Fine. so Draco doesn’t want to live here. He could at least take Harry with him. They work well together. They need each other. They need…

Harry stops and takes a deep breath. Right. Draco wanted independence, to live on his own and make his own decisions. That was the whole reason for moving out, for this whole fake relationship thing. To make his parents let him leave so he can have freedom. Staying here with Harry isn’t freedom. Not if that’s not what Draco wants. Maybe that’s it. Maybe Draco just doesn’t want Harry. He slumps back into the chair next to Ron, slamming his head on the table and feels the heavy thump of Ron’s hand on his back.

“I mean… him moving out doesn’t mean that you two will stop whatever it is that you’re doing. He’ll probably still come to lunch on Sundays, and you’ll probably have to still go over to Malfoy Manor on Mondays…” Ron sounds bored and Harry knows he’s being ridiculous. It isn’t that he thought that they would stop being fake fiancés, obviously they wouldn’t because if they did then Draco would be expected to return back to the Manor. It’s that moving out means that any real relationship they may have had is definitely off the cards.

“Yeah… I know,” he sighs and Ron moves his hand, shuffling back into his chair, practically lying down in it.

“It’s not the fake relationship thing is it?” He asks, in his best Auror voice.

“No.”

“You love him, don’t you?” Harry turns his head and looks at his best friend, the man who has had his back more times than he can count, the person he would miss most in the world. He doesn’t need to answer, the look in Ron’s eyes shows him that Ron knows. Ron sighs, picking up his butterbeer and draining it. “Well then, mate, you’re fucked.”

*****

Harry is maybe a little tipsy by the time that Draco arrives home from wherever he’s been looking for flats. The sound of the floo opening and then Draco’s graceful footsteps makes him jerk from his position lying on the kitchen floor staring at the ceiling. Ron jumps at the sudden movement, his glass of firewhiskey spilling onto the table. The footsteps get closer and Harry tries to stand up quickly, the room spinning around his head as he moves. Ok, maybe a little more than tipsy. They probably shouldn’t have moved onto firewhiskey. He lies back down on the floor, where it’s safe and comfortable.

“Harry?” Draco calls, his voice light and happy and Harry frowns. Not that it isn’t good that Draco is happy, but he should be happy here. With Harry. He looks up from his position on the floor and sees Draco walking into the room, clearly confused. “What are you doing on the floor?”

“Draco!” Ron shouts, standing up, “Good. You’re here. Now you can deal with him, it’s your bloody mess anyway.” Ron claps Draco on the shoulder as he walks out of the room, heading towards the floo to get his girlfriend to come and get him. Draco spins around the room, looking between Harry on the floor and Ron’s retreating back.

“What do you mean it’s my mess? Ron!” Draco shouts. Harry can see Ron wave at him before disappearing up the stairs. Oh good. Now it’s just Harry and Draco. Maybe Draco will join him on the floor. The look he gets from Draco a second later tells him that maybe not. Oh well, his loss. Harry lifts the bottle of firewhiskey to his face and manoeuvres himself so that he can take a sip. It burns as it slips down his throat, steam coming from his ears before he settles back on the floor, warmth filling him.

A moment later he feels something beside him and turns to find Draco delicately lying down next to him. He’s wearing a plaid shirt that makes him look relaxed and a pair of chinos that hug his butt. That’s not fair. He shouldn’t be wearing clothes that hug his butt. He should be wearing clothes that make him look uptight and stiff. Harry sighs and stares at the ceiling again, where Draco isn’t. Something brushes against his fingers and he ignores the way his heart clenches as Draco takes the bottle from him, lifting it to his lips and taking a swig.

“How’d the house hunt go?” Harry asks, unable to think of anything else to say. He can feel the heat and weight of Draco against him and it makes him dizzy. Or maybe that’s the firewhiskey. Draco shuffles a bit and Harry has a horrible feeling that he’s taken the firewhiskey away.

“It went well. I think I’ve found a place,” Draco responds. Harry’s stomach twists and he feels sick. Right, of course Draco found somewhere to live. He’s a Healer with the Malfoy name behind him. He would have found the nicest place straight away.

“What’s it like?” Harry doesn’t want to ask, he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to imagine Draco there, in his new home, his things hanging in his new wardrobe instead of hung over chairs and sofas around this one. Draco cooking in his new kitchen, no shoes and socks on, his pale feet elegant against the stone. Draco with a new man, fucking him into the mattress, the two of them curled up against Draco’s thick white sheets. Shit. He shouldn’t have asked.

“It’s nice. Big windows, separate kitchen, two bedrooms. It’s in a mixed muggle wizarding area, so I don’t have to be too worried about doing magic, but still has muggle shops and electricity,” Draco’s hand rubs lightly against the back of Harry’s and everything seems frozen, “I think you’d like it. Maybe you can come over to mine some times. I can cook you that chicken thing you like. It’ll be great, Harry, just like you said.” Harry turns his head to look at Draco, staring into those fucking fantastic grey eyes. Fuck, he’s going to miss those.

“Sure… great…” Harry whispers. The room seems too quiet as they lay on their back, staring at each other, their hands lightly touching. He should say something. He should tell Draco not to move out, not to leave him. But he can’t. The whole point of him agreeing to this stupid fake fiancé thing was so that Draco could move out of his family home. It has nothing to do with him. So if Draco wants to leave he needs to be supportive of that. Like any good friend would be.

“My mother sent us an invite this morning, to their Christmas Ball,” Draco says, his voice crackly. Harry nods, his hair rubbing against the floor uncomfortably. Right. Another fake fiancé thing. Maybe Ron was right. Maybe it’s just about Draco needing his own space. Because he clearly isn’t breaking up with Harry. Not that they’re actually together. But that’s the problem really. That’s what Harry wants, for them to be together.

“Ok. That’ll be nice.” Really nice. So nice he wants to poke his eyes out. At least that way he can’t see the way Lucius keeps looking at him. And if Narcissa casually hints at them having a baby again, Harry might cry. Through his non-eyes. Because that is clearly never going to happen.

“Hmm… It’s the first big social occasion since we got engaged, so there’ll be a lot of people wanting to talk to us. It’s more like work than a party really, but at least we’ll be there together.” Draco stops suddenly, his eyes getting slightly wider. Right. They’ll be together. But not together. Harry shuffles closer to Draco, needing to feel him, to remind him that for a while at least they were practically together. This fake fiancé thing was such a bad idea.

“Draco…” Harry can’t take his eyes off Draco’s face, the light highlighting his cheek bones, the pale skin eerily beautiful, the small mole next to his lip, the thin scar, the flecks of blue in his eyes. Fuck he’s gorgeous.

“Harry…” Draco breathes and he watches as something flickers in Draco’s eyes. If he was less drunk he could probably tell exactly what it was. He’s pretty good at that sort of stuff. It all comes from being an Auror. Being able to tell what people are thinking and feeling by just looking at them. Except he doesn’t usually do his job whilst drunk. “Why are we lying on the floor?”

“Oh!” He tries to sit up, holding on to Draco’s hand for a little bit of support. “Um… Ron gave me firewhiskey and I said that I needed to lie down, but Ron didn’t want to walk upstairs so I lay down here.” Behind him Draco chuckles and he grins, shrugging slightly. Draco has a beautiful laugh. It sort of rumbles from his stomach, like he literally can’t keep it in. Draco should laugh all the time. 

“How about I take you upstairs and we can lie down on your bed?” Images of his bed and Draco flash through Harry’s mind. Yes. Draco should definitely take him to bed. That would be a very good idea. He nods and Draco’s strong arms wrap around him, helping him to stand. Draco’s smell surrounds him and his legs wobble. Maybe he should just kiss him now, not bother with any sort of leaning in slowly and letting Draco respond.

They start to walk down the hallway, Draco’s strong arms holding him up. Maybe he shouldn’t have drunk the firewhiskey. He’s always had trouble controlling himself when he’s drunk. Draco angles him away from the wall, turning him so that he can move up the stairs. Fuck. Stairs. Why does he sleep on the second floor when there’s a bedroom on the first? Maybe after Draco is gone he’ll just move down there. Then he won’t even need the top three floors. It’ll just be him, in this big house, all on his own.

“When you go, it’ll just be me in this house,” Harry mumbles, letting himself be dragged up the stairs, “All on my own in this huge fucking house.” Draco doesn’t say anything, his uses those long, firm fingers to keep Harry upright, to move him gently up the stairs. How can he be so powerful and so gentle at the same time? It’s one of the things that make him such a good Healer. Harry can remember all the times before, being rushed into St Mungo’s, his by a spell, or bleeding out, and Draco would just take charge. He’d give orders, never shouting, and people would just do what he wanted.

Draco mutters a spell and the door to Harry’s room flicks open. Harry stumbles forward, almost falling flat on his face before Draco catches him. Looking up, he stares into Draco’s eyes as they stand in his room, their chests pressed together, so close Harry can feel Draco’s pulse through their clothes. Or maybe it’s his pulse. Someone’s heart is beating hard. Draco’s body is so hard, so warm and Harry just wants to lean into it. 

“Maybe you should move out,” Draco mutters, his breath tickling Harry’s face. Harry closes his eyes and tries to focus on the sound of Draco’s voice, washing over him, his smell surrounding him, his chest pressed against him. And then his words register. Draco thinks he should move out? But where would he go? Who would he live with? Would he just live on his own? What would happen to the house?

“Where would I go?” Harry finally asks, frowning slightly. Draco huffs, his breath making Harry’s hair move, and shakes his head. Harry gets the feeling he’s missed something. Maybe something really important.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Draco pushes him gently, turning him and guiding him to his bed, “but right now you clearly need sleep.”

“But it’s still early…” Harry pouts, making himself heavier against Draco. Draco laughs and pushes harder, easily fighting against Harry.

“Yes, but you’re already drunk and I can’t be bothered to deal with it. So sleep for you.” Draco gets Harry onto the bed, looking at him for a moment until he’s obviously made a decision. He waves his wand and Harry finds himself in only his boxer briefs, his clothes Vanished. Draco gives him a grin and starts to leave the room.

“Night, Draco,” Harry mumbles into the pillow. He’s asleep before he can hear Draco respond.

*****

“Harry Potter, will you please come down stairs now! We need to go!” Draco calls up to him from the living room. Harry looks back at the mirror once more and presses his hand to his hair. It’s still a mess, it always will be, but it looks like he meant it to look like that. Like he has any actual control over his appearance. He’s wearing very smart dark grey robes that Draco picked out for him and had tailored without Harry knowing. He can’t even remember giving his measurements. Clearly just another one of Draco’s many talents.

“Are you sure about this tie?” Harry shouts down. Just underneath his robes he’s wearing a dark blue suit with a silver tie. He suspects that there is a theme to the ball, but Draco won’t tell him what it is. Apparently he doesn’t want to spoil to surprise. Harry hears a groan from downstairs and smirks to himself. Of course Draco is sure about the tie. Draco is always sure when it comes to clothing. Harry hasn’t ever seen a wardrobe like Draco Malfoy’s.

He nods to himself once and leaves his room, taking the stairs two at a time. And then he catches sight of Draco and stops dead. Draco is wearing a deep blue robe, the same colour as Harry’s suit, but where the suit makes Harry look like a professional accountant, the robes make Draco look like a professional model. His hair is neat, but not slicked back, the bit in the front falling to the side. His suit is a light grey that makes his eyes dance and a tie is charcoal. He looks stunning. He beams up at Harry, a real genuine smile and Harry forgets how to breathe. He forgets that he even has to. Why would he need to breathe when he could just look at Draco?

“You look good,” Draco says as Harry shakes himself from his stupor and gets to the bottom of the stairs. He can feel heat rise up his neck and cover his cheeks, very aware that Draco is looking at him. That they’re staring at each other. They had somewhere to go, he was pretty sure. He can feel the warmth of Draco and he thinks that maybe now would be a good time to lean forward and kiss him. To show him that Draco belongs with Harry.

“Really?” Harry whispers, not able to make his voice work. Draco raises one eyebrow, his eyes wandering over Harry appraisingly before he reaches forward and runs his hands through Harry’s hair, brushing it to the side, his long fingers taking bits of hair and moving it. He steps back, taking his smell with him and Harry opens his eyes. He didn’t even realise he’d closed them. Draco is grinning at him and he coughs, trying to gain control of at least his breathing.

“That’s better. My parents will love it.” Draco nods to himself and Harry’s stomach drops. Right. Because this isn’t a real relationship, and Harry isn’t really going to this ball with Draco as a partner. Well, he is his partner. His partner in crime. But not his partner in a more… biblical sense. This is just a way to trick Draco’s parents into letting him move out and not have an heir with a woman who he doesn’t love. That is all this is.

Draco seems to get bored with Harry standing there, so he grabs Harry’s hand and drags him into the living room, taking a pinch on the floo powder and throwing it into the fire. He gives Harry a smile before stepping into the flames and disappearing with a shout. Harry takes a deep breath, trying to get the image of Draco out of his mind, and failing completely, before chucking his floo powder into the fire and letting it tug him towards Malfoy Manor. 

When he stumbles out of the fireplace he’s met by a grinning Draco. He brushes the soot off his shoulders and stands up properly, ignoring the sniggers behind him. Long fingers wrap around his hand as Draco takes it, leading him out of the room and down the hall towards the noise. His heart pounds and he tries to run through all the things he’s learnt about the Malfoys and the circles they run in. There will probably be a lot of people, many of them business owners or politicians. There might be some of the Sacred 28, but Draco mentioned once that they try and keep their association with them to a minimum. 

“Anything I should know?” Harry asks as they reach the doors to the ballroom, switching into Auror mode easily. This is just like any other mission. He can do it. Draco pauses for a moment, clearly thinking things through.

“There will be a few families here who wanted to join theirs with mine through marriage, so try to avoid them. Don’t talk about how we locked you in the cellar. If you talk about Hermione people might give you a medal, but I’d try to not talk about Ron too much… Don’t get drunk and don’t tell anyone we sleep in different rooms.” Draco smirks at him and pushes the large wooden door open, the noise instantly washing over them and stopping Harry from thinking about that in any depth.

Draco drags him into the room and Harry’s mind stop completely. The whole room is covered in icicles, floating around the ceiling, dangling from the coving, decorating the bar, each one glittering in the low light. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, the candles flickering. There are three large fireplaces with roaring fires in them, with huge Christmas trees either side. The trees are covered in thousands of tiny sparkles. There are tables dotted around the room, covered in crisp white tablecloths, each with blue ice sculptures in the centre. The whole room shines and glistens. It’s the most beautiful room Harry has ever seen.

“Draco! Harry!” Narcissa’s voice floats across the room and Harry turns to see her part the crowd in a long silver dress. Draco lets go of his hand and Harry lets the warmth run over him as he watches Draco and Narcissa hug. Narcissa lets go of Draco and Harry lets himself be dragged down into his own tight hug. “You two look wonderful.” She pulls back and beams at them.

“This is all… it’s amazing…” Harry gestures around the room and Narcissa glows at the compliment. If this were real, if it wasn’t just like any other mission, then he’d feel chuffed at the good impression he is making on Narcissa. Maybe he should remember this for if he ever finds someone else that he wants to spend the rest of his life with. Not that he can think of anyone ever being able to fill the huge Draco shaped hole that’s going to be gone when he moves out. Nope. Not thinking about that right now.

“Thank you,” Narcissa loops her arms through the crooks of theirs, one on each side of her and starts to walk them into the room, “Now make sure that you each try some of the punch, but don’t have too much. I think your father might have spiked it, because Daphne Greengrass is already a little tipsy. Speaking of which, best not to go near her tonight Draco. She’s a little upset about you being gay. And please try to remember not to stare at Lady Penelope’s breast enhancement, however ridiculous it is. Just… have fun boys.” She gives them a kiss each and then floats away to re-join her guest, leaving Harry feeling like he’s been in a tornado. 

“Sorry, she can be a little full on when she’s organising one of these,” Draco takes two long champagne flutes from a passing waiter and hands one to Harry, “you’ll need one of these.” Their eyes connect over the glass and Harry feels a lump in his throat. Just like any other mission. Nothing to do with his feelings. Get in, make everyone believe they’re in love, get out, go home, live alone in the biggest house in the world. Draco downs his drink, nodding appraisingly at it, before bending to pressing his mouth close to Harry’s ear, the deep smell of his cologne making Harry’s head spin. Harry can feel his lips move, perfectly soft as he whispers in Harry’s ear “Good luck.”

*****

Harry hasn’t talked to Draco in at least the past hour. He’d known, of course he had, that this was a networking event for Draco as much as a party. He just hadn’t realised that meant he’d be doing a lot of PR as well. Somewhere in the first half an hour of the evening Draco had been led away by his father to talk to someone who wanted to give a lot of money to either a hospital or a school, and he’d been dragged away by Narcissa to talk about their future life plans with an elderly woman who was maybe related to someone in the Ministry. Harry had been to Ministry functions before. It was part of the job as an Auror, and his job as Harry Potter, but usually he had Hermione and Ron there with him. And usually he didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than a hero. He’d had lots of practice being a hero.

But tonight? Tonight he’d had to make up a lot of stories about where they live (Grimmauld Place, of course, to restore the Black lineage there), how many children they wanted (he wanted four but Draco only wanted one), when they were going to get married (next summer), where they were going to get married (Malfoy Manor). It made his head spin, and he was very glad when Narcissa took the fawning men and women away to look at her garden.

He’s managed to find himself a corner to survey the room from. Narcissa really has done a fantastic job. He places his empty glass on a table near him and scans the room for white blond hair. He doesn’t have to look long. He could find Draco in a snow storm. His watches as Draco moves with grace and poise, laughing his full bodied, warm laugh as people tell him stories, his hands moving animatedly as he explains to people why his work is important. The deep blue of his robes makes his hair shine and his skin seem richer. He’s like a magnet, pulling everyone towards him. This is what he could have been as a child if his father hadn’t got involved. It makes the work that Draco has done to make up for everything seems even more impressive. He’ll be fantastic if Harry can convince him to go to Ministry functions with him.

“You know the day that I realised that Lucius loved me, and wasn’t just marrying me for my name was at a ball just like this.” Narcissa’s voice shocks him out of his reverie. He smiles and looks down at her, into those blue eyes, shimmering in the light, for a moment looking just like Draco’s.

“What happened?” Harry asks, letting Narcissa link her arm through his as they walk around the room, nodding and smiling at guests. His heart aches and he glances over at Draco, unable to take his eyes off him. He really is beautiful. The soft stroke of fingers on his hand makes him look down to see Narcissa beaming up at him.

“I hadn’t spoken to him much, pure-bloods don’t before their marriages, but I knew I loved him. I couldn’t take my eyes off the way he moved, I couldn’t stop reacting to the light touches of his hand, I couldn’t stop listening to the way he talked,” she smiles softly, “That may seem unusual now, considering the way he has spoken to you, but he was gentler then. So that night, the night of the ball, I watched him, I saw the way he spoke to people, the way he moved around the room effortlessly, but mainly I saw the way he looked at me. Like he was doing it all for me. Like I was the only thing in the world that he cared about.”

“And that’s when you knew?” Harry asks, looking back at Draco. Draco lifts his head from where he’s talking with a short round woman, his eyes connecting with Harry’s across the room. He gives him a small smile, his eyes lighting up, his cheeks flushing. Harry’s head fills with a buzzing, his legs going numb as he watches Draco staring at him. And then Draco winks and Harry feels his whole body shudder.

“I did…” Narcissa breathes, before patting Harry on the hand, “I think, maybe, you do too.” Harry’s neck cricks as he spins to look at her, his eyes wide. She gives him a small smirk and turns, leaving Harry staring after her, his world spinning.

*****

Harry seriously needs to talk to Draco. He places a hand on Draco’s back, feeling the hard muscle under his fingertips and thinks maybe they can talk after they’ve done other things. Other things that include less clothes and a bed. Or a sofa. Or one of the tables around the room. Ok, maybe not that.

“Honestly, Draco, I had my reservations about your… relationship, with Mr Potter, but after our conversation with Mr Levison, I think that really, you’ve made a very wise choice,” Lucius drawls, still not looking at Harry. Draco shuffles on his feet and Harry can’t tell whether talking to Mr Levison is a good or bad thing. He seems to remember that Levison is Carl’s surname. Carl who is moving up the Wizengamot and has been sending Harry a Christmas card for the past three years. Harry doesn’t like him very much, he’s smarmy and clearly just trying to work his way up the ladder. Figures he’d be here.

“And Eleanora Burke is positively enamoured with Harry,” Narcissa presses her hand lightly on Draco’s arm and Harry feels him still, “It was a little distasteful really, but she was very much looking forward to the wedding. Harry mentioned you were thinking of next summer?”

“He did?” Draco asks, his voice slightly croaky. Harry frowns and takes a glass off a passing waiter, handing it to Draco. Draco grimaces at him, his eyes shimmering with worry and Harry knows something is wrong. He’s seen that look before when Draco has come home after work, still thinking about a patient that he can’t cure, running through the tests he’ll do the day after. Draco downs the drink and passes the glass back to Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles to Draco, wrapping his arm around Draco’s waist and pulling him closer, “people kept asking and I didn’t know what to say…” Draco’s lips twitch and he nods slightly. Harry presses a soft kiss to Draco’s shoulder and watches as Narcissa and Lucius beam at each other. Draco glares at him, stiffening further. Harry frowns. Surely kissing Draco’s shoulder is a good thing? He’s acting like they’re a couple.

“It’ll be lovely Draco, we can have the ceremony in here, maybe something small, and then move outside for the reception,” Narcissa starts, her eyes lighting up as she talks about the wedding, Lucius looking at her with soft eyes and a small smile. Harry focuses on Draco, watching as he gets paler as Narcissa talks, the muscles in his jaw twitching. Something is wrong. He strokes down Draco’s side, trying to get him to relax. Draco’s long fingers lace with his, stopping the strokes, and Harry doesn’t know whether that is a good thing or not. The flash of fear in Draco’s eyes would suggest not.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this…” Draco suddenly interrupts Narcissa. She looks shocked and Harry spins Draco to look at him, gazing into those beautiful eyes filled with hurt and fear.

“Draco, don’t…” he whispers. He can’t let Draco do this. Draco’s lip wobbles and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his eyes shimmering. Harry tries to pull him close but he shakes his head and steps back, out of Harry’s reach. Harry’s head starts to swim. He’s going to lose him. He’s not even going to have the chance to fight for him, because he’s going to move back to the Manor and marry some pure-blood witch and have an heir.

“No. I’m sorry, Harry…” Draco’s voice cracks and Harry reaches out, needing to touch him. Needing to get him back.

“Draco? What’s going on?” Narcissa steps forward, placing a hand on Draco’s arm and Harry watches as Draco takes a deep breath, stealing himself. Shit. Lucius is going to kill him.

“This isn’t real. I’m so sorry, mother, I just… I didn’t want to get married. I definitely didn’t want to get married to a woman. I just. I wanted to live somewhere on my own, to have my own flat. My own freedom. To live my life. I’m sorry, sorry to all of you. I lied. But… I can’t do it…” Draco looks between his parents and Harry takes the opportunity to surge forward, to wrap his hands around Draco’s shoulders and force him to look Harry in the eye.

“Draco…”

“I can’t Harry…” Draco’s eyes shine as he wriggles out of Harry’s grasp. Slipping the ring off his finger, he presses it into Harry’s hand. It feels warm and hard, and completely wrong in Harry’s palm. That’s not where it should be. It should be on Draco’s finger. The twisted snake and lion dig ridges into Harry’s skin as he clenches his fist together, watching as Draco turns. “I’m sorry.” 

Harry’s head spins as Draco walks away from him, heading for a large door that Harry thinks leads outside. No. This is all wrong. Draco shouldn’t be leaving him. Draco can’t leave him. They belong together.

“If you don’t follow him now, you’ll probably lose him forever,” Narcissa’s soft voice shakes him from his panic and he looks at her. She gives him a smile and he nods. He starts to run, vaguely aware of Narcissa explaining the situation to a very confused Lucius. At least he’ll have an awesome mother-in-law.

He goes through the doors and finds himself on a stone balcony overlooking the gardens. A thick layer of snow covers them, and even though it’s late, the soft white of the sky illuminates Draco, his hair shining, his strong, capable hands flexing as he holds tightly onto the stone railings. Harry comes up behind him, needing to touch him, but knowing that it’s not the time. Not yet.

“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing!” Harry says, moving to stand next to Draco and wrapping his arms around himself to stop from reaching out for Draco. Draco doesn’t move, doesn’t look up and Harry waits. Waiting is one of the most important things he’s learnt to do around Draco. Draco needs to work things out on his own, to go through the steps in his head, and he can only do that if Harry waits.

“I’m sorry, Harry.” He finally whispers and Harry lets out a sigh of relief.

“Why? I don’t understand, Draco. What happened?” He doesn’t move, doesn’t let his voice show how much it hurts him to stand there, not touching the man that he loves. He glances over and sees Draco looking at him, his eyes almost orange in the weird snowy night light. Draco moves, running one hand through his hair and Harry takes it as a sign, turning to face Draco, ready for when he can reach out and hold him.

“I just… everyone looked so happy. I couldn’t lie to them. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this when you clearly didn’t want to. I–“

“Draco. Stop.” Harry interrupts, stepping forward so that he can see the flecks of blue in Draco’s eyes. Draco frowns, tilting his head to the side slightly.

“I’m sorry–“

“Stop saying sorry. Listen, I don’t know what happened in there, but I love you,” Harry growls. His eyes go wide as he realises what has just slipped out of his mouth, but Draco doesn’t run away, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even scream. He just huffs, his shoulders slouching and shakes his head. Fuck.

“Harry you don’t have to–”

“Draco. I love you. You love me.” 

“No…”

“Yes,” Harry shouts, moving forward and forcing Draco into the corner of the balcony, unable to move. “Fuck it Draco, why does it have to be a lie? Why can’t we have that? Fuck… will you just… marry me? For real this time.” Draco’s eyebrows disappear under his hair and his mouth drops open as he stares at Harry. Maybe Harry should have got down on one knee. Although, he didn’t actually know that he was going to propose just then, so maybe he shouldn’t have. He looks at Draco, waiting for his answer, so close he can feel the puffs of air as Draco pants.

“No.” Draco finally breathes and Harry groans, tugging at his hair.

“Why not?” he snaps, glaring at Draco, needing him to make this easier a lot quicker than he is. He needs this to be over so that they can get to the good bit, like kissing and being naked.

“Because we can’t…” Draco shakes his head, looking more uncertain than Harry has ever seen him in his life. Harry lifts his hand, running his fingers through Draco’s hair, feeling the soft strands between his fingers before wrapping it around the back of Draco’s neck, forcing Draco to look at him.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he demands, feeling the pulse in his fingertips.

“I don’t love you.” Draco’s voice wobbles and Harry knows, with absolute clarity, that Narcissa was right. That Draco loves Harry.

“Bullshit.”

“Harry…”

“I know you love me. You love me just as much as I love you. Just as much as I’ve loved you for years, for longer than I can even think about.” Harry presses forward, sliding his leg between Draco’s, feeling the hard muscle of Draco’s thigh against his. Fuck, Draco is gorgeous. Draco looks worried but doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch away. He just stares back at Harry, his eyes dark.

“No…” he whispers and Harry chuckles. 

“Yeah, actually.”

“But… I’m… me…” Draco sounds so confused, Harry lets go of his neck, running his hand through his hair before dropping his forehead to Draco’s shoulder. He runs his hand along Draco’s front, feeling the expensive fabric as it runs over his chest. If he rips Draco’s clothes off would he be killed? Probably.

“Yeah. Yeah you are. Isn’t that just the best?” Harry nuzzles at Draco’s neck and Draco drops his head back, exposing more milky white skin, just asking to be marked. Harry nips at the skin, watching as it goes pink for a moment before fading. Fuck he could do that all night.

“You can’t love me,” Draco moans, the vibrations running through Harry, straight for his groin. 

“Actually… I can. And I do. And if I’m right, you love me. So I’m going to ask again,” Harry pulls back, holding up the ring, and gazing into Draco’s eyes, “Marry me.” Draco stares at him, his eyes darting around Harry’s face.

“You love me?” he breathes and Harry laughs, taking Draco’s hand and sliding the ring onto Draco’s finger. His chest feels like it’s expanding, his head light and his toes numb. This is it. The two of them, together. Properly. 

“I do.” He looks down to where Draco’s ring sits where it should be, the snake and lion twisted together. Draco strokes at the ring with one long finger and Harry watches him. 

“You want to marry me.” Draco’s voice is soft, full of disbelief, and Harry leans forward, not willing to waste another second. With a growl he takes Draco’s mouth with his. Draco makes a small surprised noise before Harry feels Draco’s hand move to run through Harry’s hair, tugging Harry closer. 

Harry opens his mouth, Draco opening with him, and runs his tongue along Draco’s. Draco’s lips are soft and warm, and Harry melts into them. His heart pounds in his chest and his world narrows, unable to focus on anything other than Draco. Draco tastes of heat and sweetness and something that can only be him, something that Harry knows he will never get enough of. He needs this. Like breathing and Quidditch. Whining, Draco tugs at Harry’s hair, his thumb running circle on Harry’s jaw, urging Harry on. Harry wraps his arms around Draco’s waist, pressing their groins together, feeling the heavy weight of Draco’s cock, and a low, guttural moan escapes from the back of his throat. Fuck. Draco is going to kill him. After a moment Harry pulls back, watching as Draco comes out of his daze.

“You want to marry me,” Draco says, breathless and amazed. Laughing, Harry nuzzles at Draco’s nose.

“For a doctor you’re not very smart. Maybe I should find a better Healer to marry.” Draco rolls his eyes at him, his finger still playing with Harry’s hair.

“Fuck off, Potter,” Draco mutters, his eyes heated and dark, sending shivers through Harry.

“Only if you come with me,” he breathes, moving to kiss Draco again. For a moment Harry wonders at how he got here, standing in the snow, kissing his definitely not fake fiancé, before wrapping his arms tight around him and Apparating them home.

*****

Harry’s fingers move to their buttons the second they land in his room, fumbling to get their clothes off as quickly as possible. Why the fuck did they wear so many clothes? Draco’s tongue continues to stroke against his, and Harry can’t quite get his brain in gear to take any care in getting their robes off. But Draco will kill him if he rips them. Growling, Draco pushes at Harry’s shoulders, separating them for a moment.

Harry watches him, his blond hair a complete mess, his lips plump and pink from where they’ve been kissing, his eyes almost black with want, as he undoes his robe, tie, suit jacket and shirt with nimble fingers. Right, getting naked. Getting naked is definitely something that Harry needs to be doing right about now. He fiddles with his buttons, shucking his clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor, a twisted mass of blue and grey. 

Finally, finally, they’re stood facing each other, naked and Harry can’t breathe. He’s seen Draco without a top on before, obviously, but this… there’s something different about this moment. And he doesn’t want to forget a single second. Eyes roaming, he takes in Draco, his broad shoulders, his defined muscles, the thin scars shining in the moonlight, the pale mark on his arm. As his gaze moves lower his stomach clenches and his cock twitches. Draco’s thighs are thick and creamy, his fine hair shining, and between them Draco’s cock stands, heavy and long and mouth-wateringly perfect. Stepping forward, Harry drops to his knees, his hands wrapping around Draco’s waist, pulling him closer. He presses a soft kiss to Draco’s leg, moving to nuzzle at the coarse blond hairs at the base of his cock.

“Harry…” Draco breathes, his voice cracked and thick, and Harry looks up, grinning before taking the head of that perfect cock in his mouth. It’s weighty and hot on his tongue and he laps at it, rolling his tongue around, feeling the hard muscle and smooth skin and he takes Draco deeper into his mouth. Draco’s fingers are in his hair again, twisting and pulling as Harry draws out the sexiest noises he has ever heard from Draco.

Draco’s fist starts to tighten in Harry’s hair and Harry takes that as a sign. He pulls off Draco with a satisfyingly dirty pop and starts to kiss his way up Draco’s body, licking the soft curves of his abs, kissing along each scar. Gently, the two of them walk backwards until Draco bumps into Harry’s bed, falling backwards onto it and taking Harry with him. Harry laughs, peppering Draco’s chest with kisses as they shuffle up the bed, getting comfortable amongst Harry’s thick, deep red duvet. 

“I love you,” Harry whispers as he settles himself between Draco’s legs, their cocks lining up. Draco smiles, his whole face lighting up and Harry can’t help but kiss him. Their hips start to rock as their tongues curl together, each thrust sending pangs through Harry. He reaches down with one hand, wrapping his fingers around both of them, hard and leaking. Draco pants into his mouth, their breath mingling as Harry runs his thumb over the tops of their cocks, spreading their pre-come around.

“I love you too,” Draco pants and Harry loses it. Letting go of their cocks he hooks his arms around Draco’s legs, lifting them so he can get closer, pressing down with his hips. Draco gasps, arching his back and wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck as their lips clash together. They kiss deeply, all teeth and heat as Harry grinds against Draco, their cocks sliding together. “Please, Harry, I want you in me… please…” Draco breathes and Harry could cry with need. With a final kiss he pulls back, summoning the lube from his bedside table. Draco stretches his arms above his head, his legs open and Harry takes a moment to look at him. Fuck he’s beautiful.

Draco lets out an impatient moan and Harry chuckles, popping the cap on the tube and squirting lube on his fingers. He rubs them, coating them completely. Watching Draco bite his lip, Harry runs one finger over the tight ring of muscle, perfectly pink and just for him. He presses with one finger, closing his eyes at the feeling of tight heat, and lets Draco adjust for a moment. Feeling Draco’s body relax, hearing the small sigh, he starts to move, pulling his finger out and pressing in slightly further each time, allowing Draco to get used to the intrusion. 

“Harry, more, please…” Draco groans and Harry smirks to himself, pulling his finger out and adding another, going through the same motions until Draco is writhing on the bed. He starts to scissor his fingers, curling them and looking for the gland he knows is there. Draco cries out as Harry brushes past it and he can’t help but feel a little pleased with himself. He’s never going to forget where that is. Draco starts to rock his hips, pressing Harry deeper into him, and Harry can’t help but palm at his own erection.

“You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you look,” Harry mutters as he watches Draco fuck himself on Harry’s fingers. Draco grins, his eyes closed as he moves. Harry runs his hands along Draco’s shin, propping them up, keeping Draco’s legs open. His head spins, his heart pounding and his cock aching as he watches Draco in the pale moonlight. His stunning fiancé, the man he loves, lying on his sheets, the red making his skin richer. He’s such a beautiful man. And he’s Harry’s. All Harry’s. Forever.

“You know, I get a whole lot more gorgeous with a cock in my arse,” Draco laughs and Harry moves fast, removing his fingers and squirting more lube into his hand. Draco opens his eyes, heavy lidded and dark, and smirks. Wrapping his arms around his legs he holds himself open for Harry, his hole glistening and red. Harry growls, holding the tip of his cock against Draco’s entrance, and presses in. His eyes drop closed as he feels the head of his cock pop past the tight ring. 

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry groans, the effort of keeping his hips still making his legs shake. He feels long fingers wrap around his hand and opens his eyes to look as Draco smiling at him. He shakes his head and starts to rock his hips, pressing deeper into Draco with each thrust. Finally he’s fully seated, his hips flush against Draco’s, and all he can focus on is the tight, wet heat around him. Linking his fingers with Draco’s he leans forward, pressing soft kisses to Draco’s jaw, cheeks, eyelids, lips.

Their hips start to rock together, each thrust pushing Harry closer to the edge. Their bodies move in complete harmony, slowly rolling, their lips connects, foreheads pressed together. Harry’s eyes clench shut, and all he can focus on is Draco’s body beneath him, the hard planes of muscles against his, Draco’s cock rubbing against his stomach. This is his, all his, forever and always. It’s more than Harry ever thought was possible.

“Harry… I’m so close…” Draco pants and Harry starts to move his hips faster, chasing his own orgasm, his hands clenching in Draco’s. Leaning back he looks in Draco’s eyes, his hips thrusting, and sees them shining and full of love. Draco gives him a grin before arching back, moaning loudly as his cock spurts between the two of them, his come covering their chests. Harry pumps twice more before his own orgasm rips through him, his release filling Draco. He gasps for breath before collapsing on top of his fiancé.

After a moment he moves with a hiss, his softening cock sliding out of Draco. He holds his hand out, summoning his wand and Draco raises one eyebrow at him. He grins, casting quick cleaning charms over them and then places his wand on the bedside table. Draco shuffles, tugging the duvet over the two of them and drags Harry’s arm over him. Harry nuzzles into his hair as they settle together, Draco pressed against Harry. 

“So, still thinking of moving?” Harry mumbles into Draco’s hair. Draco shrugs, snuggling closer.

“Sure. As long as you come with me.” His voice is thick with sleep and Harry presses a kiss to his neck. “As long as you’re with me I don’t care where I am,” Draco mumbles, holding tightly to Harry as he drifts to sleep. Harry listens to his breathing, marvelling at the two of them together. His chest swells as he breathes in the familiar smell of Draco, perfectly intoxicating and perfectly his. Forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are seen, read and loved! Thanks for reading.


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